And the World Was Gone
by AnikaAnn
Summary: Waking up in a hospital sucked. Waking up in a hospital without a clue of what had happened to get him there was worse. Finding everyone thinking he apparently dreamed up the events of the past year, while being in a coma for three months, was… paralyzing. And things were only about to get worse for Matt from there. ...but were they?
1. I

_Probably the second most standalone-ish standalone I've ever written._

 _Feel free to read with zero knowledge of Damned verse. You'll catch up with important info within two chapters, so… it would mean a world if you would give it a shot :)_

 _If read as a part of Damned, it follows Here's to Us. Kinda._

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 **I.**

… _ **You said you'd wait forever  
But I blink and the world was gone…**_

 _Snow Ghosts – And The World Was Gone_

He snapped his eyes to the darkness. It was the first thing he was aware of; utter and complete darkness.

"Whoa!" female voice welcomed him, slowly lightening up the room.

Flames started licking his surroundings, faintly at first, just around the edges, creating a very blurry picture. His fingers twitched as he found a way to move them. And _Jesus_ , his whole body was aching. It might be his usual status, but the pain usually wasn't that strong and dull at the same time, he usually didn't feel like he got _hit by a truck_.

He was lying on a bed. Very, very uncomfortable bed, old mattress, scratchy sheets and cheap detergent, with faded smell of antiseptics. He had a nose cannula, and an i.v. in his inner elbow. The other one was somewhat stiff, in an elastic bandage, he realized, and his knee was _something_ and his ribs were bandaged as well and he was recognizing he obviously needed that a lot as he started categorizing the damage made to his body. It wasn't exactly soothing. It almost seemed as if he got hit by an actual truck. Or a car, not that it mattered.

The woman's breathing was faster, heart beating like crazy. She was honestly startled by something; as the image of the world got a little sharper, Matt realized that it had to be him. There was nothing and no one else who could cause that.

The sound grew louder – beeps and cries, heartbeats, breaths and voices, squeaks and clinks. The smell of antiseptics got stronger too. Matt didn't want to think what the other smells were, honestly grateful for the cannula, no matter how unpleasantly it kept pinching his nose.

It wasn't hard to figure out he was in a hospital. Listening harder, he could even tell it was Metro General. What he fucking had no idea about was _why_ and _how_ and _when_. He had no clue.

"Mr. Murdock? Can you hear me? Are you in pain?" the woman asked and Matt got a distant feeling she wasn't asking for the first time.

"Yes," he choked out, voice raspy from not using it for too long. How long was 'too long'? And. What. The. Fuck. Had. Happened.

Also, I'm blind, not _deaf,_ thank you very much.

"Oh, I'll bring you something for that," she hurried and Matt's mind was one big question mark until he realized she thought he just answered her second question, that he confirmed he was _in pain_ , which he _was_ , but he definitely didn't want anything for it. Perhaps the i.v. was only with saline and before, it was with… what kind of a med was that?

Before he could stop her, the door to his room opened and he quickly focused on the person coming in, hoping they would explain more than the nurse.

It was a man. And Matt knew the man very well. From the sound of his long-ish hair and breath with mint toothpaste, his not so fancy suit and cologne, to his heartbeat. He spent years and years sleeping with that heartbeat in the same dorm room.

"Foggy?" he called out silently, clearing his throat so his voice was more than a gasp. Apparently Foggy heard him, because his breath hitched and he paced to Matt's bedside, stopping abruptly in awe.

"You're awake!" he stated the obvious, astonished, laughing somewhat chokingly. "Holy fucking shit, you're actually awake, Murdock!"

The delight in his best friend's voice made him smile. "That I am," Matt admitted, trying to sit up straighter. Yeah, not such a good idea. His body felt like it wasn't even _his_. Matt shifted uncomfortably and the nurse finally took a hint, raising the upper part of his bed. "Thanks."

"Sure. I'll be back," she hummed, turning to Foggy. "Something's wrong with him, you ring, you understand?"

She didn't wait for his agreement, walking out of the door.

" _I would have to be ringing since the moment I met him,"_ Foggy muttered under his breath and Matt couldn't help grimacing.

"What happened?" Matt blurted out the moment the door clicked behind the woman.

Foggy's heart jumped in panic. "You don't remember?"

Matt frowned. Remember, remember…. What was the last thing he _remembered?_ He closed his eyes as if it could help and the current picture in his head would disperse with that action. Which, of course, didn't. Closing his eyes never helped, because he _wasn't using them_.

He had been working a case…? Yes, he had been working from home – as usual, ever since the Nelson and Murdock had fallen apart – and… and what? There was _nothing_ he could remember next. That could _not_ be good.

"Jesus, Matt. This can't be good. You… you were in an accident," Foggy said cautiously, slowly, as if he was afraid of Matt's reaction.

Accident? What kind of an accident? Was it something they made up? An excuse for his injury he had gained as Daredevil? An injury he _didn't_ _remember_ getting?

"I don't-" he let out finally, feeling absolutely helpless. _Remember, Matthew,_ _ **remember**_ _. Use your brain dammit!_

"Car accident," Foggy chuckled humourlessly. "You just can't stop being the hero, can you?"

Car accident? That actually did sound like something they had made up. In fact, old injuries he detected in late state of healing even _matched_ the story. So there was a thin chance he _had_ gotten hit by a car. But being a hero?

What?

"You were coming from your lunch date-"

 _Soft sound of her rather short hair, still growing to the right length, the one he loved, now barely brushing her shoulders, caressing her cheekbones. Her laugh; she always laughed at his jokes, no matter how stupid they were, and the flutter of her heartbeat telling him she meant it, that she was happy. Tiny tinkling of her charm, the one he gave her and she never put it away unless she was in their gym. Her body leaning to his, as she was pretending to lead him down the street. Light scent of vanilla and coconut and faint tones of coffee enwrapping him, and_ _ **him**_ _on her, as he kissed her cheek. Her breath hitching, her heart skipping a beat, one painful beat he would die for, when she registered the car the same moment as him._

Vera _._

 _Christ,_ he had gotten hit by a car and Vera had been _with_ _him_.

"Is she alright?" Matt burst out, sitting up hastily.

Foggy seemed startled by the sudden movement – Matt's body as well. But _shit_ , _they_ had gotten hit by a car. And in this room, he could smell antiseptics, he could smell very faintly some perfume he couldn't identify, but not _her._ She would visit him, maybe not every day, but he would be able to smell her anyway, wouldn't he? So why didn't he?! Something cold squeezed his heart, making his breathing difficult.

"Foggy, _is she alright?!"_

Hand on his forearm. "Matt, calm down." Matt opened his mouth to yell at him that he would fucking not calm down. "She's fine."

Foggy's furious but steady heartbeat was loud in his ears and he inhaled shakily, releasing the breath very slowly. Foggy wasn't lying. _She was alright._ Matt fell back to the scratchy covers, feeling he could breathe again.

"She had just bruises, few scratches. She said you practically served as her personal human shield. You really like her, huh?"

Matt hoped the look he sent in Foggy's general direction was as exasperated and incredulous as he attempted. "Yeah, I would think that's rather obvious for a while now, Fog."

Matt had no idea where Vera was now, and he would ask, but the most important info he had already gotten. She was fine. One would say she might even be so fine a blind man could see it.

And as he was relaxing, he was realizing other things. Like the fact _Foggy_ was here. He sure didn't have to be, but he _was_. Their friendship suffered from past secrets and lies, but they were still friends. The realization made him smile, something warm spreading in his chest.

"You're beaming, Matty-boy. Who would think Nancy Knopp would bewitch you like that…" Foggy hummed contentedly, setting all alarms bells in Matt's head off.

"Nancy Knopp?"

Foggy froze. "Yeah. Nancy Knopp. Your girlfriend. The one you saved from getting smashed on the pavement? The one we're talking about?" Matt's friend laughed nervously, his heartbeat doing funny things, his palms sweating.

Was that supposed to be a prank?

 _What_ was Foggy thinking? Matt was _out of his mind_ , worried sick about her and Foggy was talking about someone else completely to cover a potential lie? To make fun of him? Or why?!

"Look, Foggy, I… I really don't feel like joking right now," he announced, something ugly creeping to his voice, making Foggy's body temperature rise. "So I'm gonna ask again. Is _Vera_ alright?"

For a horrible half-minute, the room fell completely silent. Matt's expression was expectant, twisting in horror with each second that passed.

 _Foggy, I swear to God-_

"Matt," his friend breathed weakly and Matt felt like his body got disconnected from his brain completely. No. _No. NO._ He saved her from a robber, he saved her when being kidnapped, she survived a freaking bullet wound and a katana wound. She had _not_ died after getting hit by a _fucking car._ Something terrible tingled in his fingertips, strange numbness "Matt, what are you talking about?"

"For God's sake, Foggy!" he rasped, not quite believing he was able to speak.

For the first time, he realized Foggy was panicking, honestly scared. He was too scared to tell Matt. God, no, no, no, _no_. _Not_ _again_.

Foggy's voice was low, barely a whisper, sounding _terrified._

"Who the hell is Vera?"


	2. II

**II.**

… _ **You wade through the water,  
slowly your hands grow numb…**_

 _Snow Ghost – And The World Was Gone_

They didn't get to continue talking. A nurse came in with a doctor and there were a lot of examinations, they agreed they wanted to do CT asap, especially after finding out Matt thought it was October; apparently, it was _May_. Truth to be told, that did throw Matt off a little, but it was nothing compared to Foggy's worried and shocked tone earlier.

' _Who the hell is Vera?'_

Matt could appreciate a well-crafted prank, but Foggy had sounded absolutely and _honestly_ baffled, so that was quite disturbing. Still, Matt was hoping his best friend would now walk through the door, laughing so hard he would have tears in his eyes, or possibly would be ashamed for _torturing_ Matt with whatever he had been trying to do earlier.

Foggy came, but he did neither of that.

"So, what's the verdict? What did the doc say?" Foggy asked with worry in his voice, sitting down on a chair by his bedside. Its legs squeaked unpleasantly against the floor and Matt couldn't help but grimace. "Sorry."

Yeah. Foggy _should_ be sorry, but making annoying noises was not the reason why. Matt was out of patience – he had guarded himself during the examination, he could wait until Foggy came, but _now_ , he really wanted to know what the fuck was all that about.

"I'll live. The car accident – you said she was fine. I believe you meant Vera. Where is she?" he demanded, examining Foggy's reaction. Foggy immediately started sweating again, letting out a painful whine.

"Matt, we've been over this. You've been in a coma. Nancy barely had a scratch. I don't know about any Vera. The driver was a guy. No one else got hurt."

Matt clenched his fists, gritting his teeth together, resisting the urge to whine as well. There was _no_ _single hint_ of Foggy lying. No reason for Matt to question his claim. No reason for him not to believe Foggy. Except the fact Matt had been dating Vera for almost a year now, he hadn't kept her existence exactly a secret and all four of them – Matt, Vera, Foggy and Karen – had gone to a freaking Landman and Zack benefit together, so there was no way Matt's girlfriend just _slipped Foggy's mind._

Was it some kind of a test? Was Foggy supposed to try out Matt's certainty of his memory? The weirdest examination Matt never heard about? To prove he was not amnesiac? The thought was ridiculous and endlessly stupid, but it was the only possibility Matt could come up with.

Matt sighed, making himself to release the tension in his tendons.

"Okay. Okay. Tell me what you want me to do, Foggy. Should I like tell you everything I remember? So you can evaluate me or what?" Matt asked him in as patient tone as he managed. Foggy was still his friend. Bright and easy, warm-hearted and sensitive – Matt needed to treat him gently.

Foggy's heart jumped, startled, and he shifted in his seat, gulping.

"Matt, what are you talking about? You _can_ tell me what you remember, especially if you found a few more gaps when talking to the doctor, but I'm not gonna… _evaluate_ you or anything," he reassured Matt, voice thick, but once again with no lie. "What the hell?"

Alright. _Alright_. This was absolutely dumb. But he could do that. He wasn't sure where to start.

"Where should I start?"

Foggy was baffled once again. "No idea. Looks like you want to prove me something. I don't know. What happened the day of the accident maybe?"

Matt licked his lips. Okay. He could work with that. It was kinda hazy, but he could work with that.

"Fine. Woke up at my alarm. Had breakfast – I think… cereals? Not important I guess. Started working a case-"

"You walked to the office? Or took a cab?" Foggy interrupted him and Matt frowned. Trick question?

"Neither. Worked from home. Just like the past… four months give or take-" Foggy was taking a breath in, but Matt didn't let him. "-ever since I came back. Vera called, offered me a lunch, she was… indignant, I guess, she keeps telling me I should join society a little."

His lips formed soft smile involuntarily. She was worried about him working from home most of the time. But he couldn't exactly afford having an office like they had back at the days of Nelson and Murdock.

Foggy didn't say a word, but the longer Matt talked, the higher his heart rate was.

"We had… Chinese. I think. We walked back— I think that must have been when the car hit us." Saying it out loud… it helped a little. He was remembering things while saying them.

Matt raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for Foggy to jump and yell ' _you won!'_ or something like that. Except his friend didn't seem to be about to do that. He was watching Matt, palm over his mouth and chin, skin burning hot. Recognizing Matt wouldn't continue until he reacted, he let the hand fall down, swallowing loudly.

"Matt, I— I'm not sure what should I tell you," he said, sounding desperate. "Do you really, _really_ believe what you just told me? Think about it before-"

"Yes, I do. Foggy, I'm _fine_. Should I narrate you last year? My whole life? Is that gonna help?" he blurted urgently. He _could_ narrate his whole life if that helped. If that convinced Foggy Matt was alright and it could finally be _him_ asking questions, preferably about one particular black-haired barista.

Foggy shook his head. "No. Just… you said _since I came back_. Came back from where?"

Matt turned his palms up helplessly. Seriously? "Cambodia, for one?"

Foggy's eyelashes cut the air several times as he blinked furiously. "Cambodia? What the hell would you be doing in Cambodia?"

"Fought-"

Oh. Shit. Did he tell Foggy where he went with Stick? Probably didn't. Foggy didn't really ask about the three months Matt was gone – and Matt appreciated it enormously even though he was pretty sure it wasn't because of Matt, more like for his own calm and blissful ignorance.

"-with Stick. When I left with Stick after he had attacked Vera in her own apartment and had nearly killed her. We went to various places, for example Cambodia."

Matt added few details. Just for the good measure. That was what this was about… right?

Foggy ran hand down his face; the air he blew from his mouth tasted like desperation and helplessness. "Matt, what— okay. So… Vera. You keep mentioning her."

"Obviously."

"This… Vera. Why would… _Stick_ , that's your ninja master, right? Why would he be after her?" he pried and Matt was getting honestly… confused.

This was too much. _What_ was Foggy doing? More importantly, _how_ was he doing it? Foggy was a terrible actor and liar. Was he attending some classes Matt wasn't aware of lately? It wasn't like they were seeing each other every day…. The way he had said Vera's name. It was… so foreign, as if he had genuinely no idea who Matt was talking about. Again. But _how_ would he control his body so well? That was impossible. Heartbeat?!

"Because he thought she was keeping me here. Because he thought I would go with him even though I didn't want to, if she… if she wasn't- Jesus Christ, Foggy! _What_ are you trying to prove here?!" he exploded, fed up with this bullshit.

"Matt-"

"Seriously? You know what? Okay. I met her in a café few months after we took down Fisk. She wrote a cute note on your cup and that's how I remembered her. I saved her from getting mugged, then I ran into her at Fogwell's. I almost got her shot in her head during a bank robbery, but she was stupidly brave and disarmed the robber by herself. She figured out my identity. She got kidnapped and hurt pretty bad without telling Collins shit about who I was. She started sticking Braille stickers on my coffee cups, I broke and we started dating. She donated her blood when I got cut to shreds. I took her to the L&Z benefit, she charmed everyone, slapped her former dance partner, which you said was fabulous. She got shot after she organized a rescue mission with the Avengers after I went missing and I ditched you on Thanksgiving because of that. She beat you with Candace in chess when she spent Christmas with your family. She kicked ass at the Collins' court, because that's what she does. Stick's ninja friend impaled her on a katana and she barely survived, so I left because I was scared shitless Stick would kill her if he got a chance to try again. I came back after three months of fighting a pointless war, while she had been busy, kept learning how to patch up people for me and with the police help took down a creepy cult of wannabe vigilantes. We got together again. You couldn't handle our practice only with Karen – no hard feelings here – and started working for HC&B, while I continued working alone. I went with Vera to her friend's wedding and met her family and pretty much realized all over again I can't live without her _so for god's sake is that enough for you and can you please tell_ _ **why**_ _I can't find any sign of her being here lately?!"_

Matt was breathing hard at the end of his monologue, his mouth dry, his throat tight. Was that good? Was that bad? Was that what Foggy wanted to hear?

If the answer was _yes¸_ why was he _crying?_

"Matt-" he whispered weakly, sounding horrified. Matt didn't understand. He didn't seem to understand _anything_ anymore. Like why he could sense late spring out there, when he was hundred percent sure it was October last time he had checked, and even if he had been in coma for three months, the timeframe wasn't right, whyVera wasn't here and why was Foggy crying again?

"Matt. I don't… I don't know if you're trying to be funny, but I just-"

"Jesus Christ, _why_ on Earth would I do that?! The real question is why you are doing what you're doing!" Matt let out in pure desperation.

"Okay. Okay… you… let's say you— you believe what you said." Damn straight he did. Why wouldn't he? "Can I say my version now? Just… just listen okay?"

Matt huffed, but nodded, waiting for what Foggy had to say.

"Good. Now. We took down Fisk, I'm with you on that one." _How reassuring._ "You admitted that we got lucky with the whole law meets reality thing, but that you should give up your night hobbies-"

"What?" Matt chuckled humourlessly. "You don't expect me to believe that, right?"

"Let me talk, Matt. So you stopped. The Fisk case was pretty big, so it got us a lot of clients, even _paying ones_. L&Z did invite us to their whatever and we went – me, you, Karen. Avocados at law and their secret puppet master K. Mum managed to burn Thanksgiving turkey, so we ate take-out, best and worst Thanksgiving ever. _With you._ "

Matt huffed again and he felt like Foggy shot him an ugly look for that.

"During Christmas, we agreed you would handle the office from 27th, because, you know, _paying clients_. That's when you met Nancy. Sparks flew apparently and you got together in no time with your charming blind thing going. You kept getting lunch dates, it was almost annoying. And apparently life-threating since you were coming from one and got hit by a car. Nancy felt kinda guilty that she was unharmed, while you got hurt so badly – I'm not gonna even ask if you knew about the car and turned the exactly right moment to protect her from the worst, not that she would know you're able to do that. She comes here quite regularly, despite the fact you're being unconscious for longer that you were conscious while dating her if that's making sense. How does that sounds?"

Matt was silent for a long time, processing. He had an idea how Foggy came up with such a ridiculous story. Matt would never give up protecting Hell's Kitchen at night. _Ever_. Unless he was dead or unable to move, obviously. It pissed him off that Foggy had suggested that – Matt knew Foggy wasn't exactly approving of his ' _night hobbies'_ , but really? Trying to convince him he quitted? Willingly? Jesus, _Franklin_. And the Nancy story? Come on! Dating a client? For real? Handling two months without telling her a thing about his senses, dating her for so long if he obviously didn't trust her enough to tell her? _Please._

"Like bullshit," he admitted and Foggy's mouth fell agape.

"Matt-"

"Bullshit, Foggy!" he repeated, raising his voice slightly. What the hell?! Foggy was his best friend! What was he doing?! Did someone made him or-

Foggy bit his lip nervously, wiping few solitude tears from his burning cheeks. "Okay, Matt. Okay. Just… we'll talk about this… whatever _this_ is, later. I'm gonna call Nancy now, okay? She'll be happy to hear that you're awake. I texted her earlier, but I think she was still at work and didn't check her phone."

Matt wanted to shot him a desperate look. He was _exhausted_ by this game and he _hated it_ , he didn't know what the rules were, but every minute, every infinite second he had no word on Vera was killing him. Because if Foggy was telling the truth about the car accident and Matt thought he remembered it, faint images flickering in his mind, Vera _had been there_. And he was worried sick about her. He didn't believe she would want to be part of this… _this_ , whatever it was, she would disagree resolutely and very loudly he assumed, so her absence was more than just worrying. And he couldn't just call her since he had no clue where his phone was. Or his _burner_ he was still using, because he was fairly sure he hadn't just stopped being Daredevil.

Foggy left his room without another word, dialling right after he closed the door. As if made any difference to Matt. He could hear him just fine. He slid down the scratchy covers, wishing he was in his silk ones and could muffle in them, tuning out the whole world.

He had to give Foggy one thing though – unlike with Matt's story, Foggy's timeframe was right.

He didn't register her until she was outside the door to his hospital room – obviously; Matt had no idea who this woman was, no familiar scent, no gait, no distinctive jewellery he knew about, no voice to follow. But since Foggy didn't return to his room, waiting for the woman outside – and Matt had tried really hard to tune out the phone call Foggy had made earlier, so he didn't know when and _if_ she was coming – he could hear _him_ greeting some woman that sounded just a little like the voice from the speaker he had been trying to ignore.

"Foggy! Hey! So… he's really awake?" the woman – Nancy? – asked with disbelief and Foggy let out huffed laugh and… hugged her, Matt guessed. So… Foggy's good friend Matt had somehow missed?

"Yeah. Yeah, I couldn't believe it either."

"You talked to him?" she wanted to know and Matt could hear his best friend's heart waver. He got nervous. Obviously. It wasn't like their talk had gone swimmingly.

"Uhm. Yeah. That's… yeah. There's something you should know about him-" he started hesitantly and the woman's heartbeat spiked as well, sounding worried.

"What?"

"He's… on one hand, he seems like he's totally fine, I mean he— he's not stuttering, is absent or some shit like this, but… he's a little cranky."

 _Understatement of the year. Guess why?_ And what was it what they were doing? Was that their… act for Matt? Because Foggy knew he could hear them? Matt still didn't understand. If Foggy wanted to- yeah, Matt had no idea what Foggy's game was – was it really necessary to involve an stranger? Was she some friend from theatre classes which Matt had thought about earlier?

"Oh. That's… understandable, I guess," she stuttered slightly and Matt sent a quiet _thank you_ she would never receive.

"Yeah. Kinda. Uhm. But… he also has trouble… remembering things?"

"He's got amnesia," the woman blurted out, sounding surprised. Oh, come on, it wasn't like they hadn't been counting on that one when crafting the prank! "How bad?"

Foggy hesitated. "…Quite bad. Like… he seems confused a little too? Mixing up-"

"He has no idea who I am, is that what you're trying to say?" she kindly offered, voice on the edge of _something,_ too emotional, almost artificial. Not a good actress then?

"Yeah. I'm… I'm really sorry. Like I said, he's confusing things. I didn't really probe, but it looks like the past year or so is… gone," Foggy exclaimed regretfully and Matt knew that whatever was about to happen after the woman would enter his room, it would be exhausting.

The woman exhaled shakily. "O— okay. No expectations then. I mean… should I even-"

"Yes. God, please, _yes_. He didn't even seem to believe me that he has a girlfriend-"

 _Wrong. I do have a girlfriend or at least I had one before I… got hit by a car._

"-and that you even exist, so…"

 _Not wrong_ _ **there**_ _._

"Okay. Wow. Huh. Come on, Knopp, you can do this."

If Matt could choose, she really couldn't. Sadly, he wasn't obviously getting a chance to choose anything that day. The door opened and he stiffened, straightening on the bed automatically. Damn his manners.

"Uhm… hey, Matt. It's… it's Nancy." No lie. Or at least he didn't register any. Real name then?

"Hello… Nancy," he greeted her warily, unsure of what was coming next.

On the hall, Foggy dialled another number – Matt stopped listening when Karen answered the phone. Still no Vera. Dammit.

"Can I…?"

Matt shrugged and he heard her made a small startled sound. The perfume he couldn't have identified earlier – that was her. She had been spending time in this room regularly. Not someone who got paid by Foggy or anyone else to make him fun of him _today_ then. If anything, she had been doing it for a long time, to make it believable for him. And wasn't that just _fantastic_.

"Look, Nancy-"

"Matt- Foggy told me." _Yeah, I heard him._ "He told me you're having… troubles remembering things before the accident." _Not exactly._ He grimaced. "I'm sorry. You… you have no idea who I am, do you?"

That, he could confirm. "No, I don't." He didn't say he was sorry. He wasn't.

She inhaled shakily, light scent of salt and water in the air almost undetectable. She quickly wiped few tears off. So he had been wrong. She was a _good_ actress. But who the hell was she? Matt's mind was racing.

"Okay. Uhm. Okay. Should I-"

"No!" _No, I need to know_ _ **why**_ _you're here. If we're dating, if you're my_ _ **girlfriend**_ _, sell it._ "Don't leave."

Her heart _fucking_ fluttered, her lips parting, something light and hopeful; the thing with feathers. How did she do that? How did she pretend _that?_ It was just like with Foggy. "I won't unless you want me to."

"I don't." Matt didn't lie. He didn't want her to leave. _Not yet_. "Just… talk. Foggy told me… he told me we were-" he wanted to swallow the poisonous word, "-dating."

"Yes, for about two months. Or, well, five. We got together before New Year's." Steady heartbeat, smile in her voice. _Jesus_. He would even believe her.

"How?"

"You being the hero, of course." Come again? "You helped my mother. She was… her landlord was troubling her. All of his tenants. She called me multiple times, crying my ear off. He wanted to switch to condominiums-"

Matt stopped listening. Now _that_ sounded awfully familiar. One of their first cases? Elena Cardenas? He felt a sting in his chest as he remembered the vital old woman, who had been just another victim of Wilson Fisk's games. Whoever had helped Nancy make up the story, he could have been more creative.

"-after you helped, I was daring enough to ask you out – I wasn't… I wasn't sure how you felt about dating clients, or well, the relatives of your clients, so…"

"Hm… what do you do for living if you don't mind me asking?"

"Uhm. N-no, of course not," she stuttered, her pulse fluctuating, before settling down again. She was taken aback by his question, perhaps by the sudden change of topic. "Financial consultancy."

Matt couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. His whole body hurt, weak from that action, but god, that was _so_ worth it. Financial consultancy. In Nelson and Murdock office. That was- that was-

"Uhm… Matt?"

He dried his own tears with the back of his hand. "Sorry, sorry. You're… you're doing great job, but… financial consultancy? Are you gonna tell me you started helping our practice too?"

"Uhm… no. Matt, why- no," she stammered, confusion soaking through her voice. "It's not like you need one. You're doing great. You mentioned the start was rough, but after taking down Fisk… you're doing really good, Matt. You don't— oh. You don't remember that either. Right."

"Yeah, no. I don't remember that either. I don't remember any of this. Because it never happened."

He couldn't do this. Not anymore. It was just ridiculous. And it was also making him _angry._ Because this conspiracy against him with point he couldn't figure out was just— idiotic. Mean. Back-stabbing.

"I don't know how you're acting so natural in this, but-"

"Matt, what are you talking about? Matt— listen to me. I know this is hard, but-"

"Oh my god, stop. Please, stop. I don't believe a word you're saying-" he pleaded, but she interrupted him again, weepy.

"Matt-"

" _Nancy,"_ he returned her addressing pointedly. It didn't even surprise him he could feel her tears again.

"I don't need to be here," she warned him, voice breaking, covering her mouth as the cracked sound left her lips.

"No, no, you don't. Thank you for your input. If someone asks me, I'll say you tried your best."

"I am, Matt. I'm… I'm really trying, but you're not making it exactly easy." She rose from the chair, leaning to him with reluctance. "I'll come back when you're better, okay? We can talk later. I'm glad you're awake."

She gulped nervously, pressing a light kiss to his forehead.

Matt's body went rigid, screaming at him. Screaming that this was _wrong._ Her lips didn't feel right at all, foreign sensation on his skin, unfamiliar scent enwrapping him, thin necklace with tiny charm hitting the bridge of his nose. _Wrong_.

"Rest, Matthew," she whispered hoarsely. As she made her way to the door, the smell of salty water got more intense and when she walked down the hall, he could hear her quiet sobs.


	3. III

Okay… uhm. There might be one thing that could surprise you. Matt didn't get the red armour for the final battle with Fisk, not in this story (compliant with Damned). He got it later. Just saying to avoid any confusion.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 **III.**

… _ **I can still taste the blood in my mouth,  
bittersweet with doubt  
I can still taste the blood in my mouth,  
rip this feeling out …**_

 _Snow Ghosts – Covenant_

Honestly, Matt was consternated by the woman's visit. He wasn't certain what to think about her. But then again, uncertainty was the new trend of his life now. He was so enchanted in the weird meeting that he lost Foggy. And Foggy didn't come back. Doctors did though – they took him to CT and back. It wasn't the most pleasant experience, any of the medical treatment was, he _hated_ hospitals for a reason, all the touching and questioning and- but given the fact he could hear what kind of noises MRI machine did few floors above, he was grateful he got away with this only.

By the time they got him back to his room, there was his phone awaiting him, Foggy's scent hovering around. It got Matt ridiculously excited and he was relieved when he was left alone, grabbing it instantly.

His excitement was cooled down when he ordered the phone to call Vera – the device couldn't complete the task. Apparently, there was no contact named 'Vera' in his phone. He clenched his fingers around the phone tightly, his teeth clicking together.

This was getting really old. It was _irritating_. Exactly how far were they willing to take this – no matter who _they_ were? Matt didn't give a shit who was involved, but this didn't feel like a joke anymore. Because it wasn't just getting irritating – it was also getting _depressing._ He was deprived – he was missing pieces of information, very important pieces and it was slowly driving him crazy.

No Vera in his contacts then. He hoped he still remembered her number right – he was rarely using it, he simply called _Vera_ , but he had been able to recall it when he had been bleeding half to death, rudely brought to consciousness by Claire rubbing his sternum with her knuckles at the time, so there was a thick chance he could get it right.

No one answered the phone and there was no voicemail. _But_ , at least the number apparently _existed_ , so that was one comforting thing in the sea of chaos; Matt was starting feeling like calling mayday any second if the misfortune and… _mind-game_ continued.

Since the call was apparently not an option, he decided to leave a text – before he could set the phone and start talking, light knock sounded on his door. It took him about five seconds to identify the newcomer and invite them in.

"Hey, Matt." The corners of his mouth rose a little. He just couldn't help it.

"Claire. Hey."

He _almost_ sighed in relief, meeting a face he knew. He really hoped she could explain him what the hell was happening here – because Claire was a rational person, she wouldn't back up Foggy's shit ,– but he had a hunch she wouldn't. Because he was getting a feeling that there was more than just _Foggy's shit_ in this. Man could dream though, right?

"Good to be remembered," she hummed with a sad smile in her voice, sitting by his bed.

Matt was pleasantly surprised. Simply a visit of a friend then? Not the nurse?

"Guess you're worth remembering," he reciprocated her smile or at least he tried. He thought the world had gone crazy, so smiling wasn't exactly on the list of his skills right now.

Her heart jumped and she shook her head. "Tell that to Nancy."

And here it went again. His disappointment. And Nancy. "Claire-"

"Look, Matt, I… I get it. You're confused. You were in a coma for three months and it's incredible you're talking and you're able to move, you shouldn't even be recovering this fast, but I guess you're eager to get the hell out of here already."

 _Very much yes._ From this _freaky whatever_ he was in. "Yeah…"

"Understandable. But you need to let yourself heal. Your brain needs time to reboot too. All of this, it's a lot to take in, learning you were out for so long… and the fact you can't reach part of your memories isn't helping, I get that. You're not the first person with amnesia-"

And _that_ felt like a stab to his back again. Because Claire— Claire was- he _trusted_ Claire. He trusted Foggy too, but-

"My memory's fine, dammit! Come on, Claire! This— this whole… place is wrong, people, some… some _Nancy_ , Foggy apparently having a great time misleading me and she's not here-"

"Vera."

The two syllables, the simple beautiful four letters made him shut up instantly. He was too harsh to her. He got it wrong. Claire _could_ be trusted.

"Yeah. Jesus, thank god, Claire, I swear-"

"Foggy said you mentioned her. _A lot,"_ she let out, obviously awed, not quite believing he could be so confused _._ Because that was what he was according to everyone, right? _Confused_. "I'll look through the database of employees, see what I can find, what could trigger that."

"…what?"

Something cold stung his gut. Uncertainty he was used to, but not so intensely. His insides twisted in the gnawing feeling, making his fingers twitch, making him want to check if he was still whole.

"Matt… comatose people…" Claire started hesitantly, _cautiously,_ as if she was afraid of his reaction.

The tension moved to his chest too, breathing getting harder. Her tone. _The nurse._ Not the nurse he had met the night she had pulled him out of a dumpster. Different, too professional. Reserved.

"No, that's— how do I- uhm. Human brain is still a mystery to doctors and scientist all over the world. We still know so little. It's not like you were on an EEG the whole time. We have no idea which parts of your brain were active. You weren't responsive, but that doesn't mean your whole brain was… out of service."

Matt didn't understand. Perhaps some part of his brain was _out of service_ at the moment.

"I mean— you might have been receiving signals. Auditory input, sense of smell, taste, touch, stuff you register with your… freaky sensing. You could be sensitive to certain stimuli. You might have experienced REM phases of sleeping as well-"

It clicked into place. Matt couldn't help but gasp, jerking up as if he got electrical discharge.

"Are you saying I was _dreaming?"_ he asked incredulously, pretty sure he heard wrong despite his hearing being as sharp as ever. She was saying _what_ now?! "You think I _dreamed_ it all up? You're shitting me, Claire."

"Matt— certain areas might have been working the whole time. You dream like any other person, don't you? You know how _real_ dreams can feel-"

So Claire was part of this after all? And they had even come up with a way of sciencing the shit out of him to make it believable?

"I didn't dream it up!"

"Okay, okay— calm down. You don't want to hurt yourself. You need to be careful." Claire lightly pushed him down and he realized he had swung his legs over the edge of bed, not really sure _why_ , it wasn't like he could just walk out of here, but- Jesus. _I'll show you_ _ **careful**_ _._

"All I'm trying to say is… in reality, you dream for minutes, each dream lasts even less, and yet for the person it is like days, _weeks_. You were in a coma for three months, Matt. And— I know you hate hearing this, but you're just a human too. There are areas responsible for controlling our fears, wishes…. Foggy told me Nancy doesn't know. About… who you were, what you can do. Of course you hope for someone who would love the all of you. It's not your fault that all of this mixed up with the stimuli you were possibly exposed to, fragments of different memories and imaginations-"

 _Low blow, Claire. Really dick move._

"I. Didn't. Dream. Her. Up," he strained through his gritted teeth, seriously on the edge. "Any of what happened-"

She didn't seem to hear him. Or she simply ignored him.

"-and with the absence of your real memories, _which is also not your fault,_ amnesia is sadly not uncommon with head injuries and comas, your brain responded this way. But you're not alone, Matt. You don't need to do this alone, you have people who care for you. Foggy, Karen, Nancy, me. We'll do everything to help you to remember, to get all facts straight, to make it through if the memories won't come back."

"Leave," he ordered, not permitting any objections. He didn't need to listen to this. He didn't _want to_.

"Matt-" she protested, sounding wounded. Matt felt tiny stung of guilt. Claire… Claire didn't deserve this, she was a friend. If she was _Claire_ at all.

The thought hit him like a truck. He was getting paranoid.

But was he? What if he had got drugged? What if something had messed with his senses, with his _brain_ , and he wasn't able to detect it? It would actually explain everything. Well, maybe not _everything_ , but… Or maybe _they_ had been drugged. Maybe they were actually thinking they were telling the truth the whole time and that was why he couldn't register any lie.

Matt couldn't believe he would give his money on _brainwashing_ , but apparently that was his life now. So far, it was the best theory he got. He still had no clue who, how, or why, but it was a start.

He aimed for more gentle tone, just in case. "Please, just… just go away, Claire."

"I'm-"

"I need some time to think," he said honestly and he could immediately tell she calmed down.

"Okay, okay. Whatever you need, Matt. We're here for you, remember that," she reminded him.

He clenched his jaw as she was leaving, the door clicking behind her.

How far this went? Was it just the hospital? Was it on a larger scale? What was the purpose, for god's sake? Was it about him? Daredevil? Did Fisk somehow— or the Hand?

 _Paranoia, Matt. The paranoia is getting you good, isn't it?_

He ran his hands through his hair desperately, gripping them painfully, hopelessly clutching at something _real_ , trying to find an _anchor._

This was madness. This was utter and complete madness. Whatever this was, he needed to figure it out before it would drive him insane, before it would get under his skin _._ And he felt it, _a thought,_ a thought which is the beginning of an end, the beginning of a catastrophe, a thought once in your head, it shall never leave, and it was there now, taking residence in his mind without asking permission, _what if Claire was right?_ The terrible two words; _what if._

He must figure out the truth before he would actually start believing this nonsense. He had to get out from here. And he fucking needed to find Vera.

Nothing happened for the rest of the day and Matt was grateful – even though the hospital noise never stopped, not even when he was sure it was night. He caught a nurse saying to some patient it was time for his meds, ten p.m.. He listened to the city too, despite the fact that the environment he was in was more than distracting and loud. Listening to the rush always making him feel alive, it calmed him down and gave him an opportunity to think. He didn't believe he would fall asleep, no, his head was buzzing, coming up with tens of scenarios of what had happened and how it had happened and how he should proceed, and the _noise_ and the _smells_ and uncomfortable bed— but he did. He wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse.

Matt dreamed. In his dream, it was quite difficult to breathe and the hospital he fell asleep in, it was too much, lurking to his subconscious as well. But otherwise it was nice. Because Matt dreamed about her.

Tender fingers in his hair, interweaving gently, fingertips brushing disobedient strands aside. Her skin was a little cold against his face; he didn't mind; what the temperature was lacking, the warm behind the affection compensated. And it was in a stark contrast with when her fingers got replaced by her lips – soft burning heat, a match setting him on fire, a pleasant one though, safe, comforting, bright with hope. Perhaps it was why he wasn't sure if was a curse or a blessing; those lips were touching him a lot – on back of his hand, palm, forehead, cheeks, hairline – but never his mouth. _Jesus_ , he wished them on his own, at least a brief brush, passing touch soft and light as butterfly wings; it never happened. They whispered often too – his name, _I love you_ (and _miluji tě)_ and _I need you_ (and _potřebuji tě)._

Her scent was around him, sweet, but not excessive, vanilla and coconut, coffee and _whiskey (?!)_ , breeze, water and salt and _her_. He was in too deep to wonder about all of it. Soft breathing, sometimes catching, heartbeat, brush of her hair and tinkling of the necklace and charm; her own symphony. She was humming, sometimes off key, but that didn't bother him. It took him a while to recognize the song behind the attempted tones. His mouth felt heavy, but he thought he smiled anyway, recalling the lyrics.

 _Lights will guide you home. And ignite your bones. And I will try to fix you._

Figuring out step number one was ridiculously easy in the end. The step was called 'I'm okay and I want to go home'.

"I wouldn't advise that, Mr. Murdock. You woke up only yesterday. You weren't moving around for three months and while your CT scans are showing no abnormalities anymore, Mr. Nelson mentioned certain confusion and amnesia, so we would rather keep you here for a while," the young doctor reasoned with him and Matt tried his best to make what Foggy called puppy eyes. Foggy claimed they were invincible.

And Matt might have spent three months in a hospital, so he could look a little pathetic (then again he was shaved, he had brushed his teeth like ten times, had washed his hair with nurse's help and _no, he had no inputs_ on places he really didn't want them anymore), but his _charming_ smile and the right way with words usually worked.

"I fully understand my condition, doctor, I assure you. I feel like my head is a little clearer today-" _it always was, thank you very much,_ "though I admit I seem to… miss certain memories and I cannot deny a little bit of confusion. But I talked to Claire- _nurse Temple_ and she explained to me why that could be. Knowing it helped me understand. I sure don't want to… I can't even compare to your knowledge, but from what I understand, memory is a small miracle. Learning, recalling, it's a very complex process and for me, it applies twice as much. I can't use visual inputs, so… it's not like I can go through photos and try to remember. My home, my workplace, meeting my friends, practically my family, in places that are more natural, it sure would help me, smells and sounds, mapping things with my fingers. I believe it would be very helpful. Of course, you're the professional here, you have much more experience…"

What he was doing was a shamelessly low blow. The young – female _,_ obviously – doctor couldn't have much experience. Inconspicuously blowing her ego, showing trust she most likely starved for (he believed her young appearance didn't help patients to believe in her skills), foisting her an opinion he was confident might even sound convincing, lightly pushing the blind orphan thing and combining it with just a little bit of a sweet smile… he would be damned if it didn't work.

It did. Her cheeks flushed, her heart fluttered and she stuttered over her next words and stumbled out to get a nurse with papers. Matt grinned.

Saying Foggy had been shocked was an understatement, but he had agreed to pick him up early afternoon, while Karen would handle the office. She had spoken to Matt for maybe a minute, crying to the phone and Matt had found himself tearing a little as well. Matt had also called Nancy – because of course _her_ phone number was in his contacts, what a surprise – using the fact his voice had been still raspy from hearing Karen's sobs and curses and quite colourful addressing. He had apologized for the previous day and more. He was a terrible person.

"Nancy called, crying. She said you broke up with her," Foggy accused him once he entered his room, tossing some clean clothes to his lap. "What the hell, Murdock. _Crying."_

Matt didn't even pretend to be sheepish. "That's not entirely truth. I apologized for one."

"Yeah, she said that too," Foggy sighed.

"And then I told her that I'm coming home from the hospital, but I need some time to figure myself out, try to make sense of the time I lost and I really don't want to put her through that. And that if she wanted to wait, she could, but I wouldn't blame her if she didn't, especially since she already waited for three months. I guess she made her choice."

Foggy probably glared at him, burning a hole in Matt's head, before he shook his own, sighing again. "So basically you gave her very fancy version of _it's not you, it's me_ , while you still manipulated her into being the one who actually said it was over."

 _Yep. That was about right._

"Jesus, Murdock, you're such a sneaky bastard. I really hope it will bite you in the ass and you'll crawl in front of the woman who sat by your bed while you couldn't even piss by yourself," Foggy murmured, turning around so Matt could dress. Not before Matt's eyebrow shot up and Foggy added quiet _'sorry, that was mean'._

Honestly, Matt couldn't care less.

"How did you even persuade the doc to let you walk free? Given… everything," Foggy demanded, while still facing opposite direction.

"Wasn't that hard. You can turn around."

Foggy was glaring again, watching him. Then he gasped.

"You didn't! The doc sounded young. Did you— are you kidding me, Murdock? You wake up after three months of- what I so graciously mentioned earlier and you still have your game? Kill me now," he complained and Matt's lips twitched, finally recognizing his friend. He liked this Foggy much more than the yesterday one. Yet, he really didn't want to push his luck – if anything, his best friend obviously still lived in the illusion of Nancy being his, now ex-, girlfriend. "You're not human. But I gotta say, you look… better. Feel more like you than yesterday."

That made Matt honestly want to cry when he considered that his whole hospital escape was mostly for proving that the _yesterday Matt_ was him and _that_ _Matt_ had actually been the only one telling the truth. But he knew better than start sobbing right now.

So instead, he just shrugged, letting his lips spread in a carefree smile. "I feel better and more like me."

"Glad to hear that, buddy. Home?" he asked with an audible smile in his voice and patted Matt's shoulder lightly, unfolding his cane for him uselessly, since he offered him his arm.

Matt thought of the person that somehow still hadn't make an appearance and he needed to find. _Home._

"Yeah. Let's go home."

Home didn't quite feel like home.

That was a little disappointing, even though not surprising. Things were on their place – kitchen organized as ever, the furniture still the same, fighting couple across the street –, sure. Matt couldn't help running fingers over the surfaces, meeting them again, remembering painful moments when he had done the same at Vera's apartment when he had thought Stick had taken her life. Her scent was missing here, the only but significant flaw. Matt could tell – and it was annoying really – that Nancy had been here, Foggy too, obviously, Karen as well, probably to keep the place clean, ready for him when he would wake up. Matt thanked Foggy for that, honestly grateful. He obviously stocked his fridge too, so that was a double thanks.

Perhaps it was a wrong thing to do in front of Foggy, but he didn't seem to be exactly eager to leave, probably thinking Matt needed to be watched over – and okay, it was fair enough, he almost didn't manage to walk up the stairs, his muscles weary and heavy. Matt opened the stock box. His father's gear was still there, the important piece of home he was looking for. Matt could tell Foggy wanted to protest, but when he saw Matt tracing the fabric, and Matt knew he was smiling lightly, blinking away tears, he wisely shut up.

Which provided Matt enough time to check the lower part before Foggy could stop him. To his utter shock, Foggy didn't even have a reason to stop him. Because— because-

"Foggy, where is it?" he asked with his eyes squeezed shut, feeling the firm ground disappearing under his feet, the uncertainty and sensation of wrongness hitting him again, hard. It was empty. The compartment where his suits used to be – both, old one, the Devil's, and the new armour, Daredevil's – empty. Nothing.

Matt didn't bother turning around to face his friend, still squatting at the box stubbornly as if it could help any of the suits reappear. Jesus, not even his _sticks_. Or boots. Foggy's heart picked up speed behind him and he shifted in his position by the couch.

Matt's heart broke into gallop too, his head spinning lightly. _Wrong_.

"Uhm… I told you you stopped, Matty. After Fisk. You made sure there was no one left from his crew and you quitted," Foggy said in a voice that indicated that this was _not_ his favourite topic. It wasn't Matt's either.

He fucking hadn't quitted. He focused on the whole apartment, smells and vibrations, anything that would hint him it was there somewhere. _Nothing_.

"Foggy-" he started, but then pressed his lips together. _Be good, Matty. Be smart._ Matt had to bit his tongue to stop himself from screaming in frustration. "Okay. Right. You said that. What have you done with the suits?" he asked calmly, sensing the wryness of his own words.

Foggy gulped. _"We,_ Matt. _We_ burned the freaky black stuff you used and the back-up stuff gave to charity," he explained almost softly and Matt gripped the lid tighter so he didn't fall on his ass.

Burned. They had _burned_ the black one. What the hell happened with the red one? He bit his cheek to stop himself from blurting out the unwise question. It wasn't like he had gotten it earlier than months after taking down Fisk and in this, whatever this was, he had never got to that part.

"Right."

Matt snapped the box shut, locking it away, hoping the gnawing pain was only eating him from inside and didn't show on his face. They _burned it_. He needed to order more, it was his back-up outfit if anything had happen to his armour. Not to mention Vera _loved_ that thing. _'Great memories,'_ she had claimed. Matt wasn't so sure what was good about being shot at, kidnapped _and_ shot, but who was he to judge. They had doneseveral other things in and outside of that suit, so he couldn't argue, plus there was no denying it had a certain sentimental value for – early meetings, getting to know each other, testing and breaking boundaries… _and_ for him, to remember the beginnings, but also taking down Fisk.

"So. Feeling good, being back home?" Foggy offered nervously and Matt nodded automatically in response, lost in his own thoughts.

He needed to start looking for her. _Somehow_. And once he would find her, he needed to make her _move in_ with him, because he was sure he would catch her scent even after three months which he was supposedly in a coma if she _would have_ _lived_ _here with him before._ Besides, it would be much more practical than him ranging between two places. Moving in it was.

First part of the second step of his plan – find her. Preferably _now_.

"You're going back to the office?" Matt asked innocently, trying his best not to sound like he was muscling Foggy out.

Foggy, bless him, obviously didn't suspect a thing. "Yeah. Just for a little bit longer. If you're okay on your own?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course. I think I'm gonna… chill, I guess? Probably sleep. I kinda missed my bed," Matt told him smoothly, stretching with his arms above his head, his back obediently making crackling sounds. Foggy winced, but broke into a small laughter.

"Gotcha. Check in in two hours? Or before you go to sleep, burriting into the silk of yours?" he joked, not quite managing to erase the worried note from his voice. Still Foggy. Foggy?

Matt smiled at him warmly, crossing the room to hug him in completely platonic short hug. "Yeah. Thanks."

Matt quickly let go as Foggy let out a small startled sound at the sudden affection. "So much love."

Matt rolled his eyes. "Say hello to Karen from me, would you? I'll stop by tomorrow? Or the day after?"

"Sure. Gotta get you to your second home too, right?" Foggy agreed after short hesitation, before he patted his shoulder just like in the hospital and walked to the door. He wavered for a moment. "And Matt?"

"Hm?" Matt hummed absently, his mind already racing, thinking of his next moves.

"It's really good to have you back, you know?"

"Thanks, Foggy," Matt said again and the second the door clicked behind his friend, his smile fell.

So. What now?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-  
The foreign words in the brackets are just Czech equivalents :) (I realized I never mentioned Vera is Czech, which you cannot know in case you didn't read 'Damned'.)

Thoughts?


	4. IV

**IV.**

… _ **And you hold the pieces that cut through the night  
The very last moment of light  
As I open my arms to the depths below…**_

 _Snow Ghosts – Circles Out Of Salt_

Before Matt could start anything, his phone buzzed with a text – from Foggy. He was letting him know the earplugs were in the lowest drawer of his nightstand. Matt blinked as the mechanical voice read the message for him, bewildered. Earplugs? He didn't wear- for some reason, to humour his friend who was not in his apartment anymore, he went to his bedroom. To his horror, he actually found a huge pack of earplugs.

Matt _hated_ earplugs. Sometime during college years, when it was really hard to study since he could hear his classmates screw each other's brains out, or equally terrible, hearing what people did in their showers _alone_ , he had tried it out. But the sensation in his ears was even more annoying, always making him restless, uncomfortably muffling the outside world – too much and not enough –, so he quickly gave up. (It didn't hit him _why_ on earth he would buy them again until his whole body felt itchy to get out, the feeling getting more urgent every time he heard even a bar brawl.)

He forced himself to start with meditation, to map his injuries again, to understand the changes his body went through when lacking exercise for so long – he would have done it sooner, but in the hospital, it was practically impossible. He got rid of everything that was restraining him somehow – he soon found out what movement were a _no_ , at last for now, he didn't need any additional clue that would limit him more than necessary. He hated how weak his muscles were, planning on starting fixing that as soon as possible.

Unlike exercise, there were things that couldn't wait. Things that were making the meditation almost as impossible as being in the hospital. He needed to find her. _Now._

Matt didn't know what he had expected when writing 'Vera Machackova' into the browser, but zero results were definitely not it. He panicked. What the actual hell?!

' _Were you looking for Veronika Macháčková?'_ read the offer and Matt allowed himself to relax a little. Right. Her birth-name wasn't _Vera_. Veronika. And the letters he had no idea how to write missing probably didn't help either.

So. Most results were in Czech, which wasn't exactly delighting. The translation was sloppy, but he made out stuff – there was a woman who owned a wellness centre, so Matt ruled her out immediately. The fitness trainer caught his attention, but when he checked it out better, he found out she graduated ten years ago, pedagogy. Not her either. High school teacher. Manager. Assistant CEO of an IT company he never heard about. Personnel. Biologist. The list went on and on. He mentally cursed. Exactly _how many_ Veronikas with her last name were out there? And _why_ there was no single mention about the trial with Collins dammit?!

Dance competitions results were what so to say caught his eye – they were only few years old and all mentioning group and pair dancing, to his intense displeasure often associating her with the name of Alex Srba. He couldn't help but grit his teeth at the memory of him and his _very indecent_ hands on her – then again, the aftermath had been almost worth it. Several pictures were attached; not that it helped Mat, but he was sure now. It was _her_. The simple fact there were records of her _existence_ made him relax. _Sure, Claire, I dreamed her up. I happened to browse the internet for dancers right before the accident and my mind mixed it up._

But that was all he could find. No other mention, no lead on her. The unpleasant knot in his stomach clenched harder. He would have to stop by the café tomorrow, ask actual people; there was nothing else he could think of. It wasn't like he could just jump from rooftop to rooftop right now – no mask, no strength either. And he didn't know if knocking on her door as a civilian was wise.

The absence of any mention of the Collins's case bothered him. When he searched for _'Officer Daniel Collins New York'_ , NYPD website was offered. He went for it. And there he was, just another employee, just another officer of law. Matt wanted to puke. How was that possible? How could he be on the list of employees, when he was in jail for assault and battery, kidnapping and several other things? Matt really hoped it was a mistake. They just hadn't updated the website. That must have been it.

But why there was no article about arresting him either?

The frustration was working up on him. He felt useless. And the night fell on Hell's Kitchen and that meant only one thing – the criminals were lurking out. And there no way of stopping them, not in his current condition and state of mind anyway. So he worked out. Pushed a little more than was healthy, because he needed to be ready soon. He just wasn't sure what for.

Exhaustion helped him fall asleep despite the consuming noise of his city – no, he did _not_ wore the earplugs. _Jesus_.

His dream felt very much the same like last night. Same pleasurable sensations.

Tones of sweet scent, familiar sounds like a song. She wasn't humming though. _I love you, I need you, Matt, please._ But also words that were making more sense, a whole story – she was reading to him. He remembered her doing it before; he had come to her place one night, his soul at the bottom of the pit and she had lifted him effortlessly, as if she was an angel with strong, yet for his senses undetectable wings.

That wasn't what made _him_ feel like flying in his dream. No. It was the warmest touches, hot breath tickling his skin, hairline, forehead, cheeks – and lips. Exactly what he had missed last night, the smallest and greatest of wishes, just a passing touch, like a brush of butterfly wings, a silent promise.

Matt jerked awake gasping as if those lips, beautiful burning lips, sucked out all the air he had. He subconsciously licked his own, sharp memory fading, the sensations already gone. He squeezed his eyes shut. If he didn't feel this for real soon, he would probably go insane. Especially if the dreams escalated.

For some reason, he didn't think they would. It was probably for the best. But it didn't matter anyway. Because he would find her. He wouldn't fall asleep again until he did.

Matt didn't bother with setting up his alarm, so the result was expected – when he snapped his eyes open and his dream dissolved, his clock claimed ten minutes after eleven. _Shit._

He called Foggy first. His best friend was annoyingly cheerful, while Matt felt half dead. But he had promised Karen he would stop by and he wanted to keep his word. Plus, for all he knew, it could be her who would give him some vital information; he doubted it, but it was worth a shot.

"Matt! Oh my god!" she shrieked the moment he opened the door to the somewhat familiar and yet unfamiliar office, and she immediately jumped of her seat, making her way to him.

Matt couldn't help smiling – the purest delight in her voice, the flutter of her heartbeat and air already tasting like salt – how could he resist?

"Karen," he reciprocated as she abruptly stopped a step in front of him, letting out incredulous chuckle. And then she smacked his bicep. He couldn't say he hadn't sensed the movement a fraction of second before it happened and that he couldn't have gotten out of the way if he really wanted to, but somehow he didn't see that coming. "Ouch."

"Idiot," she cursed under her breath and then she threw her arms around him, inhaling deeply. He chuckled too, relieved, stroking her back as he felt few of her tears on his shirt.

"Good to see you too," he hummed to her hair and she smacked his back for change, sobbing.

"You scared the shit out of me. Both of us, actually. One would think you're gonna be safe since-… never mind. Just glad you're walking and talking again."

Matt slowly let her go, feeling his own face forming confused expression. What was she about to say? 'Gonna be safe since…?'

"Hello, . Welcome back in business," Foggy welcomed him ceremonially as he stepped out of the conference room with a woman Matt didn't recognize. " , we'll be in touch, have no worries."

"Looks like you have new asset to your team. I believe I'm in the best hands then, ," the woman offered with a relieved smile creeping into her voice, making her way out. Matt politely smiled in her general direction, raising an eyebrow when she left.

"Are you always this cheerful? You sure I won't be a bother here?" he half-joked, turning to Foggy, who immediately walked to him to throw his arm around Matt's shoulder.

"You, my friend, would be surprised. Feeling any changes here? Like… less mould, smell of relatively new leather chairs in the air, sharper edges of our desks, less heat and noise from the machines? That, buddy, is the office of Nelson and Murdock under supervision of evil master Page. Be aware, she's a supervillain-" Foggy narrated while he lead him to Matt's office and Matt couldn't help but stiffen a little at the details he was given – he could tell all that, but weren't those too much hints for Karen? Like… _Daredevil_ hints? Matt still didn't know what this was, but he knew for sure if Foggy claimed Matt stopped going out long time ago and never left with Stick, there would be no reason for Karen to know about Matt's senses and alter ego.

Small details they missed? A flaw in their plain? (Who they were and what the plan was or whatever, he had no clue, but it seemed a little sloppy. _Good.)_

Matt swore he heard Karen roll her eyes. "I guess I should be grateful I'm not ' _K'_ anymore," she noted wryly, wiping away her tears as she followed them.

Matt couldn't quite believe someone went through all the trouble to create this as a part of the illusion. Especially since this didn't feel like his old office at all. It was a stranger's office. It was an office of a person Foggy would probably want as his partner. It broke Matt's heart a little.

"So?"

"It's... may I?" Matt asked, testing the waters, stretching his hand out of habit to map out his surroundings like a typical blind person would.

Karen snorted . "Please, as if you didn't know exactly how the room looks already."

Matt frowned. So Karen knew indeed. Interesting. Why was that?

"Well, I don't know how it _looks,_ " he played along immediately, gaining another small laugh.

There was even a computer. Braille reader. Lots of electronics. Matt's mind raced, while reaching for rather small box he couldn't identify. Was that a ribbon on it? His eyebrow shot up deliberately, turning to his friends.

 _Friends_ , right?

"Don't give that face, Murdock. Open it," Foggy challenged him and Matt obediently did. It didn't smell like a bomb after all. Or anything close to dangerous. Even though there was something metallic in it, apart from something rather soft. He traced the content, his lips parting.

The metal – it was shaped as K. Karen? If the way her cheeks flushed when he pulled it out was anything to go by… definitely. He gave her a smile, causing the influx of blood to her face getting more intense. Foggy cleared his throat and Matt examined the other item – it was egg-shaped, soft, fine – plush? – small oval area raised above the surface. Foggy bit his lip and Matt titled his head, trying to figure out-

"Is that an avocado?" he asked curiously, immediately recognizing he guessed right when Foggy's heart picked up and his breathing changed slightly.

"Yep. Both for your keys. To remember that this office – the people in it – are always with you. You better keep your keys in your inner pocket close to your heart, Matt," Foggy explained with more emotion than he should, and it confused Matt. He liked this Foggy, witty and a little sappy, warm and joking around, deeply caring. Matt gulped, guilt for the act he pulled stinging. He wished this was his life. They were still friends the three of them, but it just wasn't the same. _This part_ , he would welcome. _Avocados at law_ , _secretly controlled by Page._

"Thanks, Foggy. Thank you, Karen."

"Oh god, Matt, stop making that face. You look like you're about to cry and it makes me want to cry— shit, Murdock," Karen complained as fresh tears rolled down her face and she paced to him, pulling him into a crushing hug again. He chuckled at her harshness and honestly wanted to cry too, because all of this was just _crazy_.

"Aaaalright, you two saps. Feeling like doing any actual work today? I don't really suppose you do, Matt, but… but?" Foggy offered unsurely and Karen released Matt from her embrace, drying her cheeks once more.

Matt thought about it for a while. It would be nice. It was probably expected from him, but… he had other things to do, places to visit. MDDC café. Maybe the church?

"Jeez, Matt, don't be too supportive of our practice…"

Matt opened his mouth only to close it again. Dammit. He pressed his lips together tightly, nails digging to his palm. The walls of Nelson and Murdock suddenly felt like a prison. A glass box to which everyone could see, watching him like a lab rat; how would he react to this challenge?

 _Jesus. Paranoid, Matt, you're being paranoid…_

He made himself smile casually, shrugging. "Sure. I can try something small."

"Yes!" Foggy cried out, his fist hitting the air. "Follow me, please."

Karen giggled and walked out from the office as well, sitting at her table, going through some papers. Foggy continued to his own office, checking if Matt was still behind him. Well, where else would he go?

"So, this Mrs. Linhart. Divorce. Conveniently lost her job a week ago, now when she's trying to get her son to her custody, which doesn't look so good for her…" Foggy started and Matt honestly wanted to listen to him. He _did_. But then they entered Foggy's castle and he was overwhelmed – it was the same layout as Matt's, sure, more inhabited, but it was also undeniably _Foggy's_. He still had a shelf for his few dinosaurs, paperweight from Candace, ancient lamp from his parents…

And a coffee cup.

In the corner of the shelf, there was a coffee cup. Matt's knees suddenly felt significantly weaker; he made his way to the incredible and indisputable evidence of him being right. This wasn't a small flaw. This was one hell of a slip. Vera's cup for Foggy. Matt squeezed his eyes shut at the memory of her babbling and flushed cheeks, her friend's mocking _. 'Jeez, Mechy, stop flirting with the poor guy.'_ Matt hadn't known where the Mechy addressing came from at the time – now he knew better. Her last name. Also her brother's nickname.

"Matt!" Foggy's urgent voice snapped him from his walk the memory lane. Matt winced at the interruption, breathing in and out. Foggy reached for his forearm. "Are you okay? You're with me?"

Foggy. Matt licked his lips absently, gulping _. 'Hey, if anyone wants to be called after gloomy weather, it's none of my business. I'm not a fan of coffee who's working in a café. So. Who am I to judge…' The blood rushing up to her face, her heartbeat spiking._

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. I— the cup?" Matt questioned, gesturing in vaguely in its direction.

"Yeah. It's silly, right? I just… I couldn't help but keeping it," he said, slightly embarrassed. _You have no idea how grateful I am that you have._ "It's uhm… I don't know if you remember, you brought it actually. It… it has a cute line on it. It says: Say YAY on a Foggy-"

"-day – sun is overrated anyway," Matt finished with him, his lips spreading into a goofy smile. He remembered Foggy's delight when he had received the cup. Still, it was nothing comparing to Matt's when he had gotten his own with a Braille sticker on it. A sticker with four letters. _Matt_. Just because she had wanted him to be able to see his name on a cup just like everybody else could.

Foggy's heart rate went crazy. "You— are you serious?" His best friend let out incredulous laugh. "You remember _this_ from all things?"

Matt smiled wider. "Of course I do, Foggy. It was the first time I met Vera. I'll never forget that."

Foggy froze, his breath hitching, skin set on fire. "V-Vera? Matt— what are you- I thought- Claire-"

Matt's eyebrow shot up as Foggy returned the cup to its place, his heart hammering against his ribcage furiously. "Thought what, Foggy?"

"You were better. Claire said-" Foggy stuttered, carefully approaching Matt as if he was a dangerous nut job, a psycho who was about to break and run off. Matt deliberately took a step back, honestly feeling like fleeing when being approached like this.

"Said what, Foggy? That she explained it to me? That my brain is playing tricks on me?" Matt demanded bitterly, tasting bile in his mouth even though he knew for a fact there was none. His stomach rolled over though.

"Matt-" he extended his hand and Matt retreated, walking backwards, suddenly disgusted.

The cup, the freaking _coffee cup,_ it was supposed to be a victory. So why did it tasted like this? Sour aftertaste of his revelation?

"Guys, you're okay?" Karen called out, observing them cautiously from behind her desk, slowly rising to her feet. Matt's mind screamed at him to get out, categorizing her like another threat. Karen, _Jesus_ , this was _Karen_. And _Foggy_. What had they done to them? Who were _them?_ What was _this?_

"No, we're really not," Foggy answered simply. "Matt, I think you should-"

"Should what, Foggy? Go back to the hospital? Get a psych eval? If it's not from Vera, if it wasn't _her_ who wrote it, then _who?"_

Karen's heart picked up speed too. "Who's Vera? Guys, what is this about? Foggy?"

"She's… I don't know who she is. He keeps— but the girl- oh crap, the girl who probably wrote it- Matt, I'm sorry if you like… remember her, you said she was new and nice, but-" Foggy was tangling in his own words, sweating hard through his shirt and Matt watched him expectantly, ready to flee if needed, but morbidly curious what he had to say.

"Oh," Karen let out soft startled noise, somehow pitiful, stepping forward. Matt tried really hard not to wince. Not in front of Karen. _Karen?_

"There— I actually came back few days later. To thank her and stuff. They-" Foggy gulped, breathing shaky. "They had sort of an altar for her, even though she worked there really shortly, replacing-"

Icy fist clenched Matt's insides. _Altar?_ Why would they fucking have an altar for her? Replacing what? Who? Something heavy fell to his stomach. What was the fake story behind this?

"What are you talking about?"

"Matt," Karen whispered softly, turning to her computer, typing and clicking several times, "there was a an armed robbery in a bank. It was rather late, only four employees and one client there. The police didn't handle it well, they— they all died."

Matt's head spun and he automatically reached to hold onto something. There was nothing. He stumbled few steps back until he hit the doorframe of his office. It didn't amaze him less than before how sophisticated this was. Sure. He hadn't been the Devil of Hell's Kitchen anymore at the time, not in this story anyway. So the robbery had turned out more bloody and all hostages had died. Including one young woman, the only client.

And Karen's heartbeat was perfectly steady as she told him, no trace of a lie. Incredible.

"The client – it was a young girl. The manager of the café said she was sent to the bank for change in the last moment, she shouldn't even have had a shift, but another girl bailed. She was young. Ariana, they wouldn't give the last name," Karen continued, sad voice, regretful.

Matt felt like he was about to gag. Ariana.

' _Wanna know my middle name?'_

' _Sure.'_

' _Ariana. Or at least it would be, according to Terri, if I actually had one, you know.'_

' _It suits you.'_

 _Jesus Christ,_ _how_ was that possible? Was Vera's best friend on this too? This, fucking _this._ How else would they know about that name?

"Matt, can you hear me? Do you want to sit down?" he heard distantly, blood roaring in his ears, muffling the outside world. They shoved a chair under him and he obediently sat down, not resisting. This was insane. He needed to go to the café and ask some questions.

He wanted to stand up, but pressure on his shoulder held him down. He focused on the person behind that action, identifying him as Foggy. But was it Foggy?

"Buddy, you're not standing up now. You're white as sheet of paper. Karen, we should call-"

"I'm fine," Matt exclaimed hoarsely, his voice weaker than he wished. It wasn't his head what was spinning, it was the whole _world._ "I'm… spins. You know. Uhm. Even blind people get spins, I told you, Fog."

Foggy chuckled humourlessly. "Thanks for the demonstration, but I would pass on that, Matt."

"Matt, can you squeeze my hand?" Karen asked gently, sliding her hand under his palm and Matt once again obediently did as she asked. "Good."

"I woke up late, so I skipped breakfast. And lunch," Matt babbled, coming up with an excuse, surprisingly reasonable. And it wasn't like he was lying. Apparently, no one in this world was lying. Or his personal polygraph broke. Now _that_ was an interesting thought.

"Sure, Murdock. That's a brilliant thought. Three months in a coma and then skipping meals. I actually think you deserve this," Foggy noted wryly and Matt fought the urge to roll his eyes as the image in his head got steadier. Well, _steadier_ …

"Hey, it's only one more appointment today. Why don't I go for some take-out, hm?"

"I could use some fresh air, honestly," Matt quickly protested against Karen's kind proposition.

"You sure do. I'll cancel the appointment, okay? We'll get some meal. And then we'll stop at Josie's. Maybe the eel can heal you, who knows?" Foggy offered, obviously joking, but Karen immediately agreed.

And who was Matt to protest? It wasn't like he had an option, was it? He doubted they would let him wander Hell's Kitchen alone. He wanted to suggest grabbing a muffin or cheesecake in MDDC café, but he wisely kept his mouth shut, giving Karen a weak smile.

They went for pizza instead. Tiny pizza place at a corner, the one where Matt, Vera and Terri with Victor had picked up their order when they had gone from the cinema to Terri's apartment, where their double date had continued.

Matt didn't even lie when he said he wasn't hungry, but they forced him to eat few slices anyway. To his shock, he felt better after that. Slightly.

Going to Josie's was like walking into a hole. The smell of alcohol and smoke hit his nostrils immediately, but it didn't make him want to spin on his heels and leave. Quite the opposite; because unlike other places, Josie's felt real and just the way it should. Which meant… well, a shithole. He loved it.

"Look what the cat dragged in!" Josie's greeted them loudly from behind the bar and Matt grimaced as several people turned their direction. He really didn't feel like being in the centre of attention, but he wasn't getting what he wanted lately, was he?

The onlookers cheered and raised their drinks. There was nothing artificial in that – they were honestly happy, because they simply found another reason to drink. That was Josie's bar. The shithole that was his third home.

"What can I get you, boys and lady? Hey, guys, move your ass! So?" the grumpy yet warm-hearted woman demanded as they approached the bar.

"Yeaaaah, I'm not sure this boy should be drinking. He's barely standing for two days, I mean that literally. Non-alcoholic beer maybe?" Foggy suggested and Matt shrugged, seating himself to one of the barstools that were suddenly empty for them.

"You two?"

"Beer too. But I dare you to bring us the non-alcoholic shit as well, Josie."

Josie grunted and yelled to someone in the back to grab one non-alcoholic when coming back, while sliding two bottles on the bar for Karen and Foggy.

"I guess it's on the tap, huh?"

Matt couldn't hold back his smile, contentedly inhaling the little piece of relative normalcy he was provided.

And then the back door to the stock flew open, light breeze shuffling the thick air, surprisingly light steps and brush of long hair cutting the buzz of the bar. Cold bottle was placed in front of him with tiny _clink_ , the girl stopping, whirling up the air once again.

The bar was full of smoke and smell of booze, sweat and mould and stuff which Matt rather wouldn't identify, but the light scent covered it all, letting the rest of the world fade away.

And Matt's head spun again, his throat tightening with indefinable sensation, his senses overwhelmed, his brain shutting down. Because he would recognize her anywhere.

"…Vera?"


	5. V

**V.**

… _ **And time listens to none  
There's nowhere left to run.**_

 _ **And all bridges burn…**_

 _Snow Ghosts – Time Listens_

One of the first things Matt had learned about Veronica/Vera Machackova – and frankly, one of the things that had made it so easy for him to fall in love with her – was that she was brave. It honestly bordered with stupidity, but with his double life, walking on the line dividing the law and criminality, his feet on both sides, he really couldn't be the one to judge. He had witnessed her disarm a robber with a loaded gun pointed at her head, slap a vulgar man in the middle of a fancy dance floor, walk right into the middle of a criminal facility and catch a bullet there, face the incarnation of her nightmares and trauma at court— and he could go on with that list.

But he knew her fear too. Ridiculous fear of his rejection, fear of ending up with a bullet in her head – or thigh –, fear of Stick who had tried to kill her, fear for Matt when he had fought his mentor.

And what he sensed the moment his lips deliberately whispered her name, that was pure fear. Her heart didn't skip one, but several beats, her breath caught in her throat and he felt the blood being drained from her face. He wanted to punch himself for making her react that way, but that could come later. Now, she was standing right in front of him, her and at the same time not quite her.

Matt knew her by his heart and he had no doubt it was her. His senses though, there were deluded. Her body build was a little different – more muscular, just a little, but enough for him to notice when he focused, and he _did_ –, her hair… he thought he sensed it, but it was covered with long wig, making it look like her hair reached her shoulder blades. He could sense too much cosmetics – makeup? – her eyelashes heavy with too much mascara, moving too slow when colliding twice. She wore a necklace, but the charm on it wasn't the one he had given her; no, it sounded different, more firm, massive – and it wasn't making the tinkling sound he was used to. Her scent was almost right – maybe with too much caffeine and little bit of alcohol in her system.

But Matt _knew_. He just found the person he was looking for in the last place he would expect. And her reaction wasn't exactly what he had imagined either.

"Matt!" Foggy's urgent voice and snap of his friend's fingers woke Matt up from his daydreaming and he realized he completely froze and his lips were not exactly decently parted. _Shit_. He closed his mouth, but didn't turn to his friend. Because… _Vera._ Like— completely different and obviously more than just startled, but- Vera. Vera was right in front of him and he wasn't sure what to do about it. Saying her name was apparently not the right move. Or staring blindly.

She seemed to snap from her shock, breathing in to talk. "I'm… I'm sorry? What-"

And _holy Jesus Christ,_ he would recognize that voice not blocks, but _cities_ away. Something pleasant ran down his spine, making him feel warmer.

"Uhm. Excuse him. He… woke up two days ago, he has things mixed up a little. A lot," Foggy came to unnecessary and nonsensical rescue and Vera blinked, possibly more confused than before. Matt couldn't say he blamed her. "Matt, the girl you just made look like deer in the headlights, that's Vicki. She's been working here for… six months give or take?"

Her heart significantly slowed its furious pace and the blood returned to her cheeks. He wished for more heat to go there, she was lovely when she was blushing. Her uneven breathing slightly steadied.

"Almost on the dot, Foggy. Matt- uhm, , I— I usually called you Matt, but… uhm," she babbled and Matt's lips absolutely uncontrollably created a smile, because _wow_. She actually did blush a little. Marvellous. He wanted to trace the rushing blood with his fingertips, and maybe create a new path, hoping the heat would follow his touch, ran his thumb over her soft lips, making them burn. His name didn't feel quite right, she used to say it differently, but he was honestly grateful it left her lips at all. _Jesus_ , she had no idea how he had missed her in this insanity. "Anyway. I'm Vicki."

And that was a lie. Obviously. Her heart indicated it just in case he didn't know. His polygraph was intact then – he wasn't sure how he felt about that, considering… well, everything.

Foggy kicked Matt's shin, hissing quietly. Matt wanted to shoot him a look, but he changed his mind, extending his hand instead, because he was a sneaky bastard and he desperately needed an excuse to touch her.

"I'm Matt. Which you obviously know. 'Matt' is okay. I… call you… _Vicki?"_ he asked unsurely and she hesitantly accepted his hand, squeezing gently, yet firmly enough to make it meaningful – but only the fact their hands met was meaningful enough, because she was touching him, as in an actual human body, not just a dream, and he was perfectly content for the moment. He raised one corner of his mouth higher, this time on purpose and had to remind himself to let go of her hand, despite the fact he had every intention to keep it. But for show – and he wasn't sure if he was the only actor here or if she was acting with him – he only squeezed her hand back and released her. And when her pulse spiked just inconspicuously at his smile, he felt something in his chest grow.

"Matt and Vicki it is. Enjoy." With those simple words, she went to check on other customers. His senses subconsciously followed her, tuned to her like a ship to a beacon.

Foggy smacked his bicep with the back of his hand. "Jesus, Matt. Is that some kind of new tactics? You don't only have the blind thing going, now you're gonna play the amnesia card too?!"

Matt opened his mouth to protest, but Karen was faster. "Oh my god, Matt, I wish you could see yourself. You were _so close_ to drooling," she whispered sympathetically, traces of laughter in her voice.

"Man, I didn't think she was your type. Blond? Too much makeup? Spiritual?"

Matt only listened to them half-ear, because some considerably drunk guy just ran his hand over Vera's ass and she turned to him, admonishing him, clinking her tongue as if she was only joking – but her pulse wavered alarmingly, every single muscle in her body tensing. _Scott,_ she said? Matt would remember that… and break his arm when the opportunity would rise. No one would touch her like that, especially against her will.

Blond, huh? Wait-

"Spiritual?" Matt blurted out, his attention closer to his friends now when Vera returned behind the bar, distant enough to be out of earshot – hers, not his, he could hear her murmur something that dangerously sounded like ' _prase nadržený'_ ; he was confident it was some Czech curse, but he didn't know what it meant.

"Yeah. She keeps wearing this necklace… like three spirals?" Foggy offered, drawing the symbol in the air.

Matt frowned, trying to recall what it was and what it meant. "Triskele?"

Foggy shrugged. "Hell if I know. Seriously, Matt, what was that?"

Vicki. Make-up and a wig. Why? What was the meaning of the necklace? Did she know he would be able to detect it? Maybe not the shape of the charm, but the fact she had one and he would ask about it?

Triskele, triskele… Matt was sure he heard of it somewhere. Three things, necessarily connected, beginning and ending in one. Three legs of a base…. Stick in his head kicked him. Right. The third part wasn't important. One of the meanings was _mind_ , _body_ and _spirit._ Stick liked to ignore the spirit. Matt liked to cling to it.

But there was more – power, intellect, love.? Or past, presence and future? Was that her message? Life, death and rebirth? Was that it? Was she hiding? Had someone attacked them and she had been able to escape, not wanting to leave him though? Had she had to disappear, to ' _die',_ and ' _reborn'_ as a new person?

"Did she bewitch you or something? … Dammit, do you think she's a witch?" Foggy lowered his voice and Matt sighed, irritated by the note, because he needed to _think_ dammit.

"Matt, are you on any meds? Is he on any meds? He really seems little out. Want some fresh air?" Karen asked anxiously, stroking his arm.

Matt immediately shook his head. He needed to be here. He needed to pay attention in case she would try to tell him something. He gulped, reaching for his non-alcoholic beer.

"I'm fine. To new beginnings?" he offered loud enough for few people around to hear.

Two other bottles clanked his and all three of them sipped. Matt would swear Vera looked at them.

Vera left early. Relatively. She disappeared to the back around half past nine and Matt – after finishing his second beer – called it a night, planning on tossing his cane to the nearest alley and following her.

Well, his co-workers had other plans. They insisted on calling a cab – when Matt told them he wanted to walk, mentally crossing his fingers they would call a cab anyway and leave him alone, they made an U-turn and decided to accompany him. Matt gritted his teeth, accepting Foggy's arm, his mind and senses following Vera anyway. He wasn't entirely sure, but he thought she entered her building – the one he knew, the one he visited multiple times. That was good.

Karen kissed his forehead in front of his door, Foggy patted his shoulder, telling him he was looking forward seeing him tomorrow in the office. Matt cracked a stupid joke about his inability to say the same. They didn't leave until the main door clicked behind him. Matt ran up the stairs, horrified to find himself short of breath when he reached his apartment. His stamina was awful. But it had to do.

Matt wasn't sure if he should be coming through her front door or window; then again, he was pathetically weak. He decided he should at least wait until later, more people asleep, less curious eyes. Still, he found black pants that seemed to be more pliant and two black shirts – one for proper use, another for his upper face. Just to make sure. He was a little out of his game, this kind of game anyway, so he didn't want to risk being seen. If anyone would notice the figure resembling the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, supposedly after such a long time of his absence, he better would have his face covered.

Matt spent his time wisely – he once again researched Vera, adding Vicki to his search, but he had no idea what last name she went under. He looked up the last mention about his alter ego, shocked when he found it was indeed shortly after collaring Fisk.

 _Wrong._ _Impossible._

What took his breath away – possibly in a very bad way, he was too taken aback to decide – was an appearance of another vigilante. Which would be unexpected and scary as it was, but in addition, the vigilante was apparently… _a woman_. And Matt wasn't a chauvinist, but _Jesus._ He had been beaten up pretty badly multiple times himself and he liked to think he was… quite capable and had rather high pain tolerance. _A woman?!_

She went by Gaia. Apparently it was a name she once had given a victim of a crime when she had asked, and it had caught on. Matt honestly doubted it was her real name – if she was smart, she gave a fake one. And judging by the amount of grateful notes (she had a website, someone created a website for people who wanted to express their gratitude, which… oh), she was smart. Matt looked it up too – Gaia was a name of a goddess, ruler of the Earth, mother of Titans – it made sense the woman would choose that name, somewhat commanding respect. He wasn't sure it was necessary – apparently, she definitely knew how to throw a punch and that was all she needed to gain some.

Matt was so astonished by the revelation that he lost track of time. He dressed up shortly after midnight, leaving via his rooftop door, finding himself _scared._ He still had no idea what was going on around here and there was no telling what he was walking into. But hell if he wouldn't try.

To his own annoyance, he had to stop several times, resting, catching his breath again. The dry warm air wasn't exactly helping. _May_. How? He shook off the intrusive thought; he was getting close to his destination, he could figure it out later. With Vera.

He could be a block away when something from the sea of noises of his city made him wince. A fight. Several streets over. Three men and two women. One of them crying, the other one wouldn't make a sound besides her rapid breathing. Matt might have been weak and very much busy, but he wouldn't let that happen.

He was listening to the progress of the fight as he went, focusing on the attackers – one of them had a knife, another was armed with brass knuckles and to Matt's shock, the last one was- _unconscious_. Someone was doing a good work protecting themselves. He thought he detected a taser too, so maybe that was it?

It was just before he dropped into the alley when he realized how terribly he misjudged the situation, the knife clanking on the pavement, another man following the unconscious one after two blows reinforced by brass knuckles; it wasn't the man who was armed with them. It was one of the women. The last man shrieked when Matt appeared by his side, sending him to the land of dreaming with several well-aimed punches.

Matt panted hard, his muscles burning. Hearing one of the women running down the alleyway, he turned his attention to the other then. The one with brass knuckles, whose breathing was uneven as well, small tickle of sweat running down her face from under her eye mask, two long well-fitting ends over her cheeks, reaching almost her chin. Matt wasn't quite sure what material was the mask and her clothes – it wasn't leather, but it was quite similar – covering every inch of her body, fitting very closely, gloves with stuffing to protect her knuckles. He registered barely audible buzzing of electricity; a taser attached to her pants, a phone in her pocket.

But none of these things were important. What hit Matt like a truck was her thundering heartbeat, somewhat familiar, and the sound of her rather short hair, approximately to the middle of her neck. It was moist with sweat as well, accenting smell of vanilla and coconut and the woman herself.

No.

His legs turned into uncooperative mass of jello and he barely held himself standing. The feeling of something _wrong_ , following him ever since he woke up from the coma, escalated, twisting his insides painfully. His ribcage was squeezed in a vice and his breathing became significantly more difficult, lack of oxygen not really helping to steady his world which seemed to be swinging.

 _No_.

For the first time from his awaking, he wished he was mistaken. He hoped that what he believed, what not just his senses were telling him but his heart as well, was wrong. It couldn't be her. It simply _couldn't._ He was imagining things, her scent was just similar, his hearing was deluding him because of the exhaustion.

 _NO._

All his doubts crumbled in a pile of dust the moment the vigilante spoke in a voice Matt had been hearing in his dreams, voice he would follow anywhere. And if the voice wouldn't be enough, the _language_ she delivered the line in would.

"No to si ze mě děláte prdel."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

I know no one probably gives a damn, but Vera simply called Scott a _horny pig_. Just saying. And when she saw the of the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, she said something like ' _you've gotta be shitting me'._


	6. VI

**VI.**

 _ **Take comfort in the guilt  
The summer flowers wilt  
Buried in the deep  
Where the stars can weep**_

 _Snow Ghosts – In The Deep_

Matt was fairly sure he was dreaming. There was no other explanation. He had fallen asleep while doing his research, or at Josie's, or— _something_ , because this couldn't be happening, this was only a dream, it was a nightmare.

But he could feel his own furious heartbeat, the rush of adrenalin in his veins, thin skin on his knuckles scraped by his old boxing wraps, the only part of his oldest outfit that apparently hadn't been burned to ash. He could sense the tickle of sweat running down his neck, muscles burning, exhaustion in his every molecule of his body as it got out of the habit of patrolling every night. He knew he was very much awake.

And she was still right there. _Gaia_. He couldn't believe it. He wanted to go to Vera's apartment, clear things out, whatever _things_ were, and instead of Vera he met Gaia on his way, when he couldn't ignore the calling of something that was such an essential part of him, the part he supposedly gave up. He met Vera _wearing_ _a_ _mask_ and _a_ _spandex catsuit_ , _beating up criminals_.

This couldn't be real.

Except it was.

She was the one to collect herself first, while he was still standing frozen, fists up.

"I can't believe what I'm seeing," she exclaimed, voice liquid disbelief indeed.

Matt gulped. _Well, that makes two of us._ He didn't see that coming. What he didn't see coming either was the sudden rush of… anger taking over her, radiating in waves.

"No to mě poser…. Back to the land of mortals, Devil?" Vera – no, _Gaia_ – asked somewhat mockingly, turning to him with her whole body, taking few steps closer.

Matt was still left speechless. He didn't know this woman. Not like this, not… not with brass knuckles in her hands, taser in reach, not in that outfit, not in that questionable tone, sounding wry and upset. Angry– with him or with the world?

And it hit him so hard, the fact that he didn't know her. Her addressing – the Devil – so foreign in her mouth, coming out wrong, indicating she had no idea who he was. What had happened to her? What had they done to her? Whoever _they_ were? _What_ was all this? It was so surreal and yet so real.

Wrong, wrong, _wrong._

He knew it was possibly the stupidest thing to do, but he made himself lower his hands, relaxing his posture at least slightly. To show her he meant no harm. He never meant her harm for god's sake. Not to Vera. To… to _Vicki? Gaia?_

"Dressed up in hurry? Or did I miss some new trend on vigilante Vogue?" she mocked him and his makeshift outfit. She spoke in the strangest tone. "Well. Not chatty. I see. Fine by me," she hummed, turning around.

"Wait!"

Vera didn't do a single step until Matt recovered and managed to let out at least _one_ word before he would let her go away. _Jesus,_ he couldn't just let her go away! She stopped dead in her tracks, her pulse spiking excessively. He wasn't ready for the… the tsunami of anger her body was flooded with.

"You don't get to tell me what to do," she hissed, voice sharp like razors, glacial. Anger, wrath, those were _burning_ emotions, passion and heat, a fire, a weapon of mass destruction. But not with her, not with this woman. It was ice-cold and Matt felt it was much more dangerous.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out on instinct, in a desperate attempt to keep her on place. She turned to her side, maybe watching him with a corner of her eye. _Got her attention?_ "Just… _who are you?"_

 _And what the hell is all this about? How the fuck did I wake up after supposedly three months in a coma, yet almost five months_ _ **before**_ _my last memory?_

Vera faced him once again, obviously not exactly happy about it, but too polite to let the question unanswered.

"I would think the word's getting around, but I guess hell is too far away. What do you care anyway?"

 _What do I-_ _What do I care?!_

The grace the words left her lips with, seemingly calm and indifferent, something boiling inside…. His jaw fell slightly agape. This wasn't happening. _What do I care? You have no idea how much I care._ She had no idea _why_ would he care. Because apparently, he was a stranger to her.

 _Jesus. Christ._

"I— uhm. Gaia?"

"Here we go!" Vera- no, _Gaia_ , cried out cheerfully, throwing her hand towards him in a sweeping gesture. As if she was saying ' _look at you, so clever!'_ Matt's stomach rolled over. "And you would be the famous Devil of Hell's Kitchen. I hope you don't mind me running on your playground. But you weren't home. So I took residence here."

Her tone indicated she didn't give a damn if he minded.

"How-"

 _How did you learn how to fight? How did you become this? Why? When? How-_

"How what? Are we playing twenty questions now?" she teased him again, a wry smile on her lips judging by her tone. On those beautiful and tender lips, that could whisper his name as if it actually _meant_ something. Lips that could drive him crazy in the best way possible, with words or touch, the sweetest torture.

Not anymore, apparently. Not ever.

"How… how do you know people need help?" he asked question that was honestly burning him the least. He had no idea why he asked it. She seemed taken aback by it too.

" _Oh, right. I don't have super-hearing. I just have a good capable friend."_

Matt barely caught what she was saying, with her speaking in so low volume. But guess she proved her point. Who was her 'good capable friend'? He doubted it was Terri, but then again, she had been getting those… visions lately— and probably not lately, _lately_ in what he thought he knew, or-

"Guess that's disappointing, right? But someone needs to look after this place. You bailed about a year ago, so… "

 _Wrong_. Matt would never— but then again, everything was pointing that direction, wasn't it? Nelson and Murdock, the lack of articles about him, the absence of his armour…

Her anger was back, sharper and icier than before. She huffed out a bitter laugh, a scary sound with a crack in it, something not sharp, not quite, there was something- she sighed and Matt could detect the faintest trace of salt and water in the air.

Tears.

Only few, drawing the thinnest path on her cheek, only few drops. She was crying. He made her _cry_. His throat went tighter despite the fact he thought it wasn't possible.

"I wondered where you disappeared to, you know? _The Devil, coming to the rescue to anyone who cries for help loud enough,"_ she pronounced in a celebratory voice, fake admiration, poison dripping from her words. "I always wondered…. Did you hear _me_ scream?"

And it was like a punch to his gut – with a sledgehammer –, like a bullet to his lungs. Matt was sure he had to hear wrong. _Did he hear her scream?_

 _What?_

Her humourless chuckle, a razor cutting through the fine night air. Winter coming early, cold soaking through his bones.

"No one came. Well... I tried to fight, but I didn't know how back then. And I was alone." Her fingers ran over her mask, one of the long ends covering her cheeks. It seemed she didn't even realize she did it, a subconscious movement. Matt focused on it, on the sound of her covered fingertips on the fabric, the way the mask shifted on her face.

 _No._

The mask wasn't rubbing against smooth skin. No, there was a scar. Long scar, he couldn't tell how exactly, where it reached, but he could tell it was there. Someone had hurt her. Someone had hurt her and Matt hadn't been there to save her.

 _No._

' _But someone needs to look after this place. You bailed about a year ago, so…'_

Because he had quitted. Because he had burned his clothes, while burning a piece of himself. _Jesus, how—_ he would never-

"Guess I wasn't screaming that loud," she whispered lowly, darkly, and then he could hear a small smile in her voice. It wasn't a happy smile, he knew that one. This one was ironic, bitter. It was making his hair stand on the end, every tendon tense, cutting to his skin.

 _Christ,_ this wasn't happening. This was _wrong_ , impossible, _insane_.

"…And then I couldn't scream at all."

Matt wanted to throw up. The world swayed out of its place, his head spinning, his knees getting weak.

' _And then I couldn't scream at all._ '

He thought it was a knife scar. It would be a knife scar, right? Because when he _had_ _saved her_ – he _remembered_ saving her from the two muggers in the back alley, only few minutes from her apartment, she was coming back from Fogwell's –, their second meeting, she had punched the one guy good, had made him bleed, but the other had had a knife and it had scared her. It had scared her so much that when Matt had come to her rescue, she had just turned her backpack to him, begging him to take whatever he wanted, as she had been expecting a hit.

He squeezed his eyes shut, nails digging to his wraps, wishing he could bury them to the skin on his palm instead, to feel pain… because that would confirm it, wouldn't it? Pain was real. _This was real_.

Maybe he heard her scream? Over the earplugs? A faint distant sound, just a white noise?

He actually tasted his early dinner and gastric juices in his mouth at the thought.

Wrong, so _wrong._

"Well. So that's my heart-breaking origin story. Any questions?" she asked, once again cheerfully, as if he still didn't taste her tears, didn't hear her heart hammering at the memory, her breath wavering. "No? Good."

"I'm sorry," he choked out, the words repugnant on his tongue, so distasteful he wanted to spit it out, _sorry_ , this could never be fixed with 'sorry'. Useless, useless letters that didn't mean anything, that wouldn't change a thing about what had happened. And he had no doubt it had happened. The evidence was standing right in front of him, cocking her head to her side.

"Nah. Don't worry about it," _Gaia_ exclaimed, waving it off jovially, so artificial, so fake. It was making him want to cover his ears, because they must have been bleeding at the tone – no, bleeding at what was _behind_ _that tone._

"Stop," he whimpered, his knees getting weaker with each second of her terrible acting.

He had this to her. He had made her like this. This was his fault.

Because he hadn't come, he hadn't heard her, he had let the men hurt her. He had let them leave scars, and Matt was fairly certain that the one on her face wasn't the only one, there were more, and there were several scars somewhere neither human eyes neither his senses could check.

"You're being bossy again. Don't do that. I made it through."

No lie.

She had made it through. Because she was strong. A fighter. A literal one.

Matt gagged.

The bizarre woman licked her lips and clicked her tongue, her head inconspicuously rising to look above his right shoulder. Matt focused on what she could be looking at – he found another heartbeat, calm and steady, another woman, same outfit as Vera. No mask.

He winced, getting ready to fight. If he let any of them to get close enough to use a taser, he would stand no chance. He couldn't believe she had been talking only to make him stay here while she somehow called for a back-up. He was really rusty if he missed her stalling.

Then again, the things she had been saying were throwing him off more than he believed was ever possible.

"Do you know who Gaia was?" Vera— no, Gaia, _always_ _Gaia_ , this woman, she couldn't be, she wasn't, she- a goddess. A ruler of the Earth. Strong and fearful. Cold. "Not much of a reader, huh? She was born without the gene of fear. She was unbreakable."

Matt didn't understand what she was talking about, but he didn't give a fuck, shifting in his position, so he didn't have the newcomer on his back. The woman must have noticed, because she jumped down, landing in the alleyway with grace, effortlessly. The breeze carried her scent to his senses, and his brain finally rebooted. He knew her. The heartbeat, the movements, the outfit.

The Black Widow.

He shifted again for two different reasons . First was more like a shiver – ' _good capable friend'?_ Understatement. _Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow, the Avenger –_ Matt couldn't believe it. But then again he had trouble understanding and believing things in general lately. The second reason… he was close to doomed. Because he definitely didn't want to fight the spy. Especially if she trained with Vera – he didn't want to fight the two of them, with brass knuckles and tasers. Of course, he didn't want to hurt Vera at all, but that was something else entirely.

However, his worries were groundless – the woman didn't do a thing. She was just watching them.

"I am too," Gaia added and Matt had hard time remembering what she was talking about. Right. Her name. She was unbreakable. What? "I'm already broken. Did your fancy hearing and who knows what catch that?"

Matt thought he couldn't get more nauseous, but he was wrong.

The Black Widow walked to them, sighing. "Well. I'm offended, Gaia. You had a costume party-" Matt could tell her eyes wandered from his head to toe, checking him with a raised eyebrow, irony in her voice, "and I wasn't invited."

Gaia – and the name rolled off the spy's tongue so easily – cleared her throat as Natasha walked past him. "You were. Just a little later. To skip the boring introductions."

"Hm. But you seem to be handling it just fine. Or is there any problem?" she demanded, clear threat. _If there_ _ **is**_ _something, you're not gonna like what's coming._

Matt straightened, his pulse loud in his ears, his mind racing. He didn't want a fight. He didn't want Vera/Vicki/Gaia to leave either. He wasn't sure why was that, since there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say, but…

"No. I was just leaving. Wanted a company," Gaia lied effortlessly, her heartbeat barely wavering. It was another punch to his gut. _She was a good liar._ She wasn't supposed to be. Vera was _a terrible liar._ And that meant something, coming from him.

"Oh. Good. Just to be clear, I would like to ask you to leave, sir. For your own good. The police are on their way," Natasha noted sweetly in his direction and when Matt pricked his ears up, he could hear the sirens in the distance indeed. _Shit_. "Shall we?"

Vera just nodded and turned her back to him without a second look. Without goodbye. But what else did he expect? A thank you? She would be just fine with the men. She didn't need his help. Not now.

He stood in the alley minutes after the women climbed up, disappearing. She didn't need his help, not now, not anymore, not ever. She didn't need _him_. He let the bitter realization wash over him. Everything he had learned that day, it wasn't making any sense to him, it didn't feel right, but at the same time, it fit together perfectly.

Only when he heard the sirens dangerously close, he broke into motion. He kicked the man who was regaining consciousness on his way, jumping up the fire escape, trying to ignore the tingling in his fingertips when he felt traces of her presence there.

He had no idea where he was going, but he was sure it wasn't home. Maybe to his apartment. But he knew it wasn't home and there were no lights to guide him anymore.

Low hum of Vera's favourite song echoed in his ears.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- 

" _No to mě poser."… "I'll be damned."_ (But kinda more vulgar, I guess?)

By the way, Vera took her name from book series indeed – 'Fearless' by Francis Pascal. I read it when I was like… dunno, really long time ago, but back then I liked it (at least the few books from the series I read). I remember nothing about the plot, it was just the name and the fact her "gene of fear" was non-existent that got stuck in my head and popped out conveniently when thinking of a vigilante name. Plus, I found it kinda hilarious, since Daredevil is 'the man without fear'.


	7. VII

**VII.**

… _ **But instead you'll strip me bare  
leave me lying there  
as you suck out all the air…**_

 _Snow Ghosts - Covenant_

Matt didn't sleep well. He didn't sleep at all. He threw away the fucking ear plugs, wishing to see them _burn_ , and listened to the cries of the city instead. Few of them fell silent after someone decided to step in – a beautiful young woman, hiding her scarred face under a mask.

He hadn't followed them after the Black Widow had asked him to leave them alone – he wasn't sure he even wanted to follow. Hearing Vera from this distance, fighting almost effortlessly, receiving punches as easily as throwing them, an occasional crackling of electricity when she got over her head – it was enough. No, it was _too much_. He was childishly covering his ears with his palms, but it didn't help and his body wasn't listening to his commands at all, his hearing focusing on her stubbornly.

Wrong, wrong, _wrong._

This wasn't happening. She hadn't become a vigilante, the muggers had never really hurt her, Matt had come, he had rescued her and she had tossed him a freaking midnight snack and a bottle of water, because she was _unique,_ she was caring, she was rightful and forgiving, she was tender, she was… she was pure, she was _good_ , she was _Vera_. She wasn't Vicki, she wasn't some Gaia _._ She could be a fighter, ridiculously brave, she was never giving up, yes, but not like _this._ He had started teaching her, yes, but most of the time, she needed protection, _Matt_ needed to protect her, so she could shine, bright and warm, and she would wait for him, safe, being his home. Not this, never like this.

He grasped his hair, hoping the pain would distract him, but it did _jack shit_. His fist hit the wall and _nothing_ happened. Nothing changed. He was still standing in his bedroom, a faint scent of cherry, sour and sweet, a strange woman all over his place, brick walls and silky sheets, his apartment perfectly neat, his suit missing, the old one and the new one and this… this illusion, crippling him, dizzying and making him weak in his knees— _this_ couldn't be real.

It didn't feel real, it didn't feel right, his mind _remembered_ what had happened and it wasn't this, he would swear he _remembered_ her breath hitching before he kissed her at Fogwell's for the first time, she had leaned in a little, he _remembered_ her ridiculous fear he hadn't want her in every way possible, he _remembered_ her eagerness when they had established he actually had wanted her, he _remembered_ her crying to his chest when having a nightmare, he _remembered_ her delight when he had come back after Stick, he remembered _everything_ , but he was on his own.

Because apparently none of what he believed was real _was_. Howcould his own mind trick him like this? How could it create a world in which he was genuinely happy, no matter how much crap he had been through, masked or unmasked, but with her by his side? How could Claire be right? How could his brain pick up the pieces of information he must have had, his subconscious, his fears and unspoken desires, and create a whole new world while he had been in a coma? How could his dream replace his actual memories? How could his mind escape the reality he, deep in his heart, hated, because it was denying everything he was?

Nancy had beenhonestly upset when they broke up, evidence of her presence everywhere, Foggy had been terrified Matt went crazy, their practice had kept going surprisingly successfully, Karen standing by their side and being their base, while Vera, _Jesus Christ,_ Vera had become a vigilante, tens, hundreds of people thanking her via website, thanking the fearless woman named Gaia. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen was no more.

Matt wanted to bang his head against the wall in frustration. So he did. Wrong, wrong, _wrong._ There were so many things making him feel like he didn't belong here, because nothing was right in this world and he was _drowning_.

But there was one thing he could set right. One thing he could fix. He just needed to make them understand. Make _her_ understand. But where to start?

He started with leaving a text to Foggy he wouldn't stop by office that day. Personal matter, he would explain later.

He had a meeting to arrange.

The Black Widow wasn't in a phonebook. That wasn't exactly surprising, but it made things more complicated. Or he thought so. Until he hailed a cab and asked to be driven as close to the Avengers Tower as the driver could; the cab didn't take him to the Avengers Tower, but apparently there was a café from which the view was marvellous, so he took him there.

Matt didn't understand and wanted to argue. Until someone opened the door for him from outside, almost familiar scent reaching his nostrils, perfectly calm heartbeat, dangerous vibe. Guess Natasha Romanov wasn't being called a spy for nothing. It would bug him how she knew he was coming, how she did this, hell, how did she even know who he was, but he had more pressing issues.

Romanov leaned in through his door to the cabbie, handing him a bill. "Thanks, Ronnie. Perfect job as always," she said warmly, her eyelashes colliding once, winking at the man.

"Always a pleasure," he shot back with a pleased smile in his voice and the woman straightened again, beckoning to Matt.

"Shall we, ? I believe you wanted to talk to me."

Matt didn't have much of a choice. So he got out of the cab, ignoring the driver's cheerful goodbye, humiliatingly accepting Romanov's arm so he could pretend to be guided.

None of them spoke up until they sat to one of the boots, facing each other. Natasha was awaiting. She had time. Thinking about it, Matt had it too. What he didn't have was patience. He desperately wanted to know. Because it seemed he didn't know _anything._

"Coffee, ?" she offered and he realized the waitress approached them, asking him a question earlier. He automatically nodded despite the fact he didn't give a shit about coffee. The waitress poured him a cup, leaving, while Romanov rested her hands on the table. "You live to surprise, Matthew. I honestly thought you would go after her, I have no doubt it would be no problem for you to find her."

Matt gritted his teeth at her amused tone. He was very far from amused.

"How did you know?" he demanded, even though her answer in fact didn't bother him at all.

"I'm observing. It's what I do, I gather information for living, Matthew. You're not – well, you _weren't_ – being very subtle either, so that helped."

He clenched his hands into fists. He wasn't sure who he was angry with – with her for being cocky or… or him (Jesus, he would neverhang up the mask, how had that happened), himself, because she had every right to mock him? Because he had quitted _._ Something was seriously messed up here.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, refusing the call, sliding it back.

"Did you help her?" Matt asked instead, the question that really burned him, together with _how_ and _why_. "Did you help Vera become… _that?"_

Her heartbeat jumped inconspicuously at the name he used, but otherwise barely wavered as if she expected it. "Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

He slammed his fist to the table impatiently, irritated by her stoic calm, digging his fingernails into his palm. _It was all of his business, dammit._ _She was not supposed to be like that._ He set his jaw tight as the few people in the room snapped their heads to their boot. Natasha tilted her head to side.

"Because she was different. Rape victims aren't usually so strong. In better cases, they close up to the world and only rarely let someone in. In worse, they are useless for living, _damaged_. Not that anyone could blame them. But not her," she kept her voice rather flat, but emotion soaked through it.

Fondness.

Natasha Romanov cared for Vera. Or Vicki. Or Gaia. It didn't matter, but one single word from her whole speech did. _Rape._ The muggers had _raped her._ Something dark shivered in him, claws and fury, crawling out.

"Are they dead?" the dark matter pried and her pulse actually spiked at that.

"They are, now. Accidents happen in prison. Fights turn nasty."

 _Good_ , the savage thing hummed in satisfaction, while a terrible thought struck him.

"Did— did she-" Matt choked out, not wanting to even _think_ it was possible. She would never kill anyone. He had wanted take a life before, more than once, but _Jesus,_ not her. She wouldn't even consider that. Not hisVera. Who wasn't _his_ at all.

"No. The prisoners did it. What would she be doing in prison?" Natasha questioned lightly, no indication of a lie, but with a shadow in her voice. Vera hadn't done it. Romanov might neither, not by herself, but she had been the one pulling the strings. Funnily enough, it left Matt helpless with no one to aim his wrath at. Only himself.

Fuck his decision to quit. Fuck him.

Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it.

"She found a teacher, her guru. He tipped me off. She was determined and talented. Intense training help-"

"She needs to stop," he grunted, just the idea of her, intense training— what did that even mean, was it similar to training Matt underwent under Stick's supervision? Bullying? Pain and humiliation? Brainwashing? Convincing her she was just a tool, that she, she herself, her wishes, her dreams, her feelings, didn't matter at all?

So, so disgustingly _wrong_.

"And _why_ would she do that? Because you did?"

"Because she's gonna end up hurt!" he burst out, slamming the table once again. " _Jesus..."_

Natasha seemed to be irritated as well. Finally, some emotion.

"For someone who's supposed to have enhanced hearing, you're not listening enough. Are you listening to yourself right now? Were you listening to what I said, what she said last night? She already got hurt and she has enough strength to prevent others from sharing the same fate."

 _Of course_ Vera was strong. She _was supposed to_ be strong, but not like this, not literally, not putting her life in danger every night. She shouldn't be in danger _any night._ Especially not because of him, not because of what he had done, because of what he _hadn't._

"This is all wrong," he whispered incredulously, losing the firm ground under his feet.

"Welcome to reality, ," she noted wryly, sipping from his cup of coffee since she didn't have any and he hadn't touched it. There was a small puddle under his mug as the table had rattled under the power of his hit before. It made a sickening sound as she returned it to its place, wet sound like blood dripping from someone's hands.

Vera's blood. His hands.

"No, you don't- this is all wrong, _this._ She never got mugged— I-I never stopped and I _saved her,"_ he mumbled nonsensically, hand running down his face. No blood stained his cheeks. There was no real blood on his hands, but he could _feel_ it there.

He could also taste her confusion, yet she didn't comment on his exclaim. Of course she didn't. He sounded insane. He _was_ insane.

Her phone buzzed again and she pulled it out again, sighing. It finally struck him.

"It's her, isn't it? She keeps calling you. Let me talk to her," he demanded, hope flickering. This was his chance. This was his chance to-

"No chance in hell, Devil Boy," she hissed, answering her phone. "Not the best timing. I'm just having a lovely chat with ."

There was a short silence on the other end. _**"…Matt Murdock? The blind lawyer who woke up from a coma few days ago?"**_

"Yeah, that's him," Romanov confirmed, voice too sweet. "You had quite an interesting talk with him yesterday night in the alley. Before I came and politely asked him to leave."

Matt tensed, panicking. He planned on telling Vera. But not like this. Gentler. _Jesus_.

All he could hear was a deafening silence from her. Then: _ **"That would explain few things, though it doesn't make it less creepy he knows my real name."**_

Matt gulped. Fair enough. And _shit._

"Thanks for mentioning in front of me that some random guy at Josie's knows you by name," Natasha noted dryly, traces of worry in her tone. She might actually care about Vera. Matt wasn't sure how he felt about that.

" _ **Thanks for mentioning the identity of the Devil, since you know it for... like a year and half, I guess, knowing you."**_

This time Matt actually fought a smile. There was a piece of Vera he knew. She could shot back witty answers when she wanted. Witty, but not necessarily mean. There was a hope for her then.

"Give me the phone," he ordered. Romanov leaned backwards, licking her lips. For god's sake-

"Seems he wants to talk to you." Well, at least she _shared_.

" _ **We talked enough."**_

"Looks like she _doesn't_ want to talk to you, ," Natasha narrated unnecessarily, smugness in her voice.

Screw her. _"Please."_

Natasha bit her cheek. "I think he's making puppy eyes behind the glasses. You're a sucker for puppy eyes. "

SoVera _was_ a sucker for puppy eyes. It was still her. But how could he possibly know _that?_ If he had only dreamed a life with her by his side, how could he know that? If he was just 'a random guy at Josie's'?

" _ **You know what? Give him."**_

"Really?" Natasha blurted out, surprised, while Matt already held out his hand expectantly, feeling like he was growing wings, because there _was still a chance_. "Feel free to hang up any second. I'll call you when I'm finished with him."

"Vera?" he breathed to the phone the very same second Romanov handed him the phone with displeasure and something in him shivered in satisfaction.

"Don't call me that," Vera cooled him down, making something unpleasant grow in his throat. _Slight miscalculation._

"Sorry. I'm… I'm really sorry."

"Yeah, well, good to know," she shot back, hearing what he was saying. What he was apologizing for. "By-"

"No, wait!" he blurted out in panic. _Jesus,_ he didn't even start. He didn't know _what_ he wanted to start, but it she was _on the phone with him._ He would figure something out. "I— you don't need to talk to me. Just listen, please."

Short silence followed. "Why?"

"Because there's something terribly wrong and we have to fix it."

 _Dammit, Matt. There's no_ _ **we**_ _._ He could feel Romanov's eyes piercing through him in silent agreement.

"Look, — or- or don't _look_ , I don't know how you usually work-" she tangled in her words and it reminded him so painfully of the Vera he knew, how, _Jesus Christ,_ _how?!_

"I saved you."

Natasha across the table stiffened at his exclamation and so did he. He did not just say something so royally stupid, did he?

"Not that I'm aware of. Go to hell."

There was no walking back now.

"It was the second time we met," he explained his… his illusion or dream or _whatever_. "The first time we met, you were embarrassed about the confusion around Foggy's name and you wrote a rhyme on his cup." He licked his lips, making up his mind. If he was about to narrate, he might as well do it right. "Say YAY on a Foggy day – sun is overrated anyway."

He waited with his throat tight, his heart hammering against his chest. Was she gonna hang up?

She didn't. She sounded honestly astonished when she spoke up.

"…You rememb-" she breathed and Matt heard it, the beautiful awe in her voice – until he didn't. "Okay, so you figured out that the girl serving you at Josie's is the one who once wrote an awkward line to a cup. Congratulation."

"Will you, please,listen to what I have to say to you, Ve— Vicki?" Matt almost choked on the addressing, clutching the straw she had offered without being aware of it.

There was some rustling on the other end of the line. He held his breath. "I'm listening. Don't expect me to talk back."

Matt didn't. So he talked on his own. He told her everything. The third meeting when she made him smile, putting her foot in her mouth, their first kiss, her kidnapping and revelations, the benefit, pleasant parts and the less pleasant ones, her risking her life for him, their dates – normal ones and double one with Terri – , Nelsons Christmas and gifts, trial and her birthday/name day, his departure, her actions while he was gone, his return. Their encounters at Fogwell's, their lessons in fighting and dancing, meeting her family, attending the wedding...

Vera didn't say a word indeed. He wondered if she simply put the phone down and left to her own devices, letting him speak to no one.

And then he heard his own words in an echo, transformed mechanically. He automatically cocked his head in the direction of the source of the sound, focusing, and his breath hitched.

Vera was coming. Vera was _entering the café_. Natasha swore under her breath; at least Matt thought so, it was hard to tell, it was in Russian. Matt lowered the phone and placed it on the table while Vera approached them.

He closed his eyes, taking her in. She was almost the same he… he _remembered, wanted_ her – she wasn't wearing the wig, he couldn't smell more than faded traces of her makeup – she hid her face in an oversized sweatshirt, hood on. She didn't sit. She pulled out an earpiece – must have been one-way, because he hadn't heard her move at all before, hearing the same noises as if she stayed in her apartment. Fancy tech and her sneakiness. _Dammit, Vera._

 _Thank you, Vera._

" ."

Her voice was shaking inconspicuously, emotions carefully hidden behind a flat tone, her eyes wet-ish, dried streams of salty tears on her cheeks, microcrystals settling on her scar. Matt wanted to cry too.

He wished to say her name, but he couldn't. Not if he didn't want to piss her off by addressing her _Vera_. He remained silent.

"I'm only here to say few things and I'm not gonna repeat them, so I need you to listen to me," she exclaimed confidently, her heart like a war drum, her hand shivering in the pocket of her hoodie though. He thought it was the grey one, oversized, warm and soft – he used to wear it when staying at her place. Well, obviously, he _didn't_ , but…

"Yes," was all he managed, sitting up straighter.

"Good. I don't know how much time you spent making up the heart-breaking love story, but it's not appreciated." His heart stopped. This didn't sound good. This was far away from an olive branch or an attempt to understand what he had been saying. Well, _what_ had he been saying? Hell if heknew. "I have no fucking clue how you learned so many details about me, or how many lucky guesses you made, but Iswear to god that if you ever bother my friend or me, I'll end you."

She was afraid. She was unsure in her steps. But she wasn't lying.

She was ready to _end him._

Matt felt as if he got splashed with a bucket of cold water with ice-cubes in it, pieces of it piercing through his skin and muscles right to his insides. There were no better words for it. And he fucking couldn't breathe.

She would _end him_.

"What?" he gasped, his eyes stinging, his fingertips getting numb.

Wrong, wrong, Jesus _fucking_ Christ, this was _so wrong._

She rested her palms on the table, slightly leaning to him, the triskele charm on her neck pressing against the hoodie from the inside. The vanilla-coconut and coffee scent he loved and he couldn't get enough of surrounded him and was suddenly suffocating him. He thought some of the imaginary icy water got in his alveoli as well; that was the only explanation of why he couldn't take _a single breath in._

"I told you to listen," she hissed impatiently. "You go close to me or my friends again, you stick your nose to my business, and I'll start sticking mine to yours and you're not gonna like it. I'll get enough evidence to expose you. Something tells me it would make one hell of a mess."

He thought he was about to gag. Who was she? What was all this? How could this be real? How, when it felt so— twisted, so-

But it was all real. And the raw reality was ripping his throat up. "You wouldn't do that."

"Do you really want to take that chance?"

"You wouldn't do that," he repeated firmly with a small satisfaction in his gut, because she shivered, doubting. He could get through to her and maybe that was the key. A key to— to fix this, to make her stop, take the vigilante place again so she was safe and if not win her heart, then at least set things right between them, to do- he didn't know _what_ , but he didn't care _._ "You care about justice. About people. You expose me and tens of the criminals walk free, including Wilson Fisk."

"Guess you better stay away then. You want to go out playing hero again? I won't stop you. God knows this city cries and needs all help it can get."

 _Yeah, I know. So do you._

Matt exhaled shakily as her breath tickled his cheeks, when she shortened the distance between them. He was surrounded by her, his senses flooded with everything that was _her_. The proximity was intoxicating. Her lips brushed his earlobe, light as a passing touch of butterfly wings and he closed his eyes, the inch of his skin immediately set on fire, a tingling sent down his spine, ending in his fingertips.

These were the lips he wanted to feel. The right shape and structure, soft, leaving an imprint on him, burning a mark. _Jesus. Christ_.

"But don't you think for a second that I'm gonna play your damsel in distress, _Matthew_."

And the lips were suddenly poisonous, her mocking voice etching from surface to the marrow of his bones, pentobarbital running through his veins, rapidly going for his heart. She sensed his weakness. She knew it, he practically imposed it on her, she knew _she_ was his weak spot and she used it. Her mouth drew an agonizingly slow line on his cheek, stopping on his own lips frozen in shock.

He couldn't move _,_ he couldn't speak and he was fairly certain he just went to a cardiac arrest.

Her lips were on his. He had ached for them desperately and finally, they were there. Except he couldn't decide whether he loved the feeling or hated it.

"Because, _Matt,"_ she whispered to his mouth, hot and wet and _bitter_ , words vibrating, titillating his sensitive nerve endings. Her tone, so foreign to him, sticky sweet with icy edge; it was making him wish he was deaf as well as blind. "You don't know shit about me. I don't need you to save me."

He was almost relieved when she retreated. His body still refused to do anything except creating few solitude tears, releasing them to go down his face, cold against the skin that suffered from fever caused by her touch. He could taste her on his lips and he would savour that sensation if it suddenly didn't feel so wrong.

"I hope I was being clear. See you never. Nat."

She beckoned to the woman still sitting on the other side of the boot and simply walked away, some Czech swearing on her lips; he didn't think he heard that one before. Romanov nodded to her as well, grabbing her phone and the earpiece, standing up.

"I guess we're done here. It was a pleasure to meet you, ," she noted with a hint of irony, spinning on her heels. She wavered at the door, slightly turning her head back. Her voice was undetectable for regular ears, but crystal clear, sharp on its edges. "She can be patient. I can't. I prefer quick solutions. You try to contact her again, I'll break your neck before you say _Gaia."_ And with that, she disappeared too.

Matt had no idea how long he sat there before the waitress came, offering more coffee. His trembling hand reached for his wallet, barely finding the right bill. The waitress hummed in agreement but he almost didn't hear her over the roaring in his ears. He had no clue where left and right was, where was up and down. His hand felt the edge of his seat, pushing up, his other hand literally blindly searching for his cane. He didn't know where he was going; not just because his body felt like it didn't belong to him anymore and the whole world was spinning, but also because he had no idea what should be his next move.

Matt took several unsure steps where he suspected the exit of the café.

And then he passed out.


	8. VIII

**VIII.**

… _ **And they walked me down to Tyburn dock  
Where they tied the hangman's knot  
And the starlings hide away  
And said to death, "No, not today."…**_

 _Snow Ghosts – Ropery_

He snapped his eyes into the darkness. It was the first thing he was aware of; an utter and complete darkness.

"Whoa!" female voice welcomed him, slowly lightening up the room. Flames started licking his surroundings, faintly at first, just around the edges, creating a very blurry picture. His fingers twitched as he found a way to move them. And _Jesus_ , his whole body was aching. It might be his usual status, but the pain usually wasn't that strong, he usually didn't feel like he got _hit by a truck_.

He was lying on a bed. Very, very uncomfortable bed, an old mattress, scratchy sheets and cheap detergent, with faded smell of antiseptics. He had a nose cannula and an i.v. in his inner elbow. The other one was somewhat stiff, in a splint, he realized, and his knee was _something_ and his ribs were bandaged and he was recognizing he obviously needed that a lot as he started categorizing the damage made to his body. It wasn't exactly soothing. It almost seemed as if he got hit by an actual truck. Or a car, not that it mattered.

The woman's breathing was faster, her heart beating like crazy. She was honestly startled by something; as the image of the world got a little sharper, Matt realized that it had to be him. There was nothing and no one else who could cause that.

The sound grew louder – beeps and cries, heartbeats, breaths and voices, squeaks and clinks. The smell of antiseptics got stronger too. Matt didn't want to think what the other smells were, honestly grateful for the cannula, no matter how unpleasantly it kept pinching his nose.

It wasn't hard to figure he was in a hospital. Listening harder, he could even tell it was Metro General. What he fucking had no idea about was _why_ and _how_ and _when_. He had no clue.

He was trying to remember, he tried _very hard,_ because this felt awfully familiar. If someone was about to come through the door and tell him that he got hit by a car, again _,_ possibly got hit by a car and suffered from some serious head trauma and obviously amnesia, since he didn't remember his girlfriend— _Paula_ for a change, who he in fact knew was not his girlfriend, and the world in which he protected a woman he loved and who happened to be named Vera was only a world he dreamed up and was not real (and he wanted to throw up at the thought), because Vera went by 'Vicki'and occasionally 'Gaia'- he would fucking strangle them with the very same i.v. that was pumping saline to his bloodstream, because he knew, okay?!

" ? Can you hear me? Are you in pain?" the woman asked and Matt got a distant feeling she wasn't asking for the first time.

"Yes," he choked out, voice raspy from not using it for too long. How long was too long? And. What. The fuck. Happened? This was the strongest déjà-vu he ever lived through.

"Oh, I'll bring you something for that," she hurried and Matt's mind was one big question mark until he realized she thought he just answered her second question and confirmed he was in pain, which he was, but he definitely didn't want anything for it. Maybe he should get some antipsychotics though, something that would stop the train of his thoughts _._

Before he could stop her, the door to his room opened and he quickly focused on the person coming in, sending a prayer it was not Nancy or Paula or any of his non-existent girlfriends. Or, god forbid, boyfriends.

It was definitely a woman, that he could tell before his brain processed anything else; like a light scent of vanilla and coconut and faint tones of coffee with whiskey and salt of dried tears. Soft brush of rather short hair against her cheeks, barely reaching her shoulders and a small twinkle of a double charm, hearts-shaped, as she abruptly stopped dead in her track, her breath hitching. Her heart skipped a beat, one painful beat he would die for.

"Vera," his lips whispered effortlessly, a name that they knew, his heart knew.

His mind couldn't control his body as he straightened on his bed, swinging his legs over its edge, sharp stings in so many places he would cry and he did, but it had absolutely nothing to do with physical pain, because _Jesus holy Christ_ , she was _right there_ and he didn't give a fuck something snapped in his right knee that shouldn't be snapping and it hurt like a bitch and standing up and walking was generally a terrible idea. He _didn't give a fuck_ about all that when he met her halfway to the door and squeezed her so hard she couldn't breathe. Just a fraction of second before he pulled her into his arms, she let out a startled yelp, somewhere between horrified and admonishing and _delighted_ and then she didn't have enough air in her lungs to create another sound.

He nuzzled his nose to her hair, letting go one arm, yanking the freaking nose cannula away and locking her in his embrace again, because _thank God_ she was real and he was real and whatever fucking dream or whatever he had been through, it was just a memory for now. _Please, let it be just a memory. Let this be real._ She smelled liked tears again, from one side a little like the hospital sheets, as if she laid her head on a pillow for few minutes or hours, but otherwise it was all her and she had no wig and no tons of makeup on and he fought the urge to map out her face just to make sure there was no scar.

"I missed you so much," Matt mumbled to her hair, most likely too low and too incomprehensible. Her chest, feeling so fragile all of sudden, shook with laugher, with humourless chuckle, a soft tickle of her breath against his throat. Vera gently wrapped her arms around his injured ribs and he was a breath from asking her to press to him tighter, just to let him know she _was_. "Christ, _you have no idea."_

"Don't you do that to me ever again, you-" she demanded urgently, _pleading_ , raspy and quiet, muffled by his… well, hospital gown. Because, hospital. He heard the nurse's horrified gasps at his action, and okay, his legs felt very unsure, ready to give up any moment, and his knee, which had been probably busted and healing, was now busted again, andhe yanked the oxygen from the wall before he removed the cannula from his nose and his elbow was bleeding just a little since he hadn't bother with pulling out the i.v. input and let it tear away as he moved towards the woman he loved.

And he loved her more than anything and at the very this moment, he realized he hadn't been appreciating her enough, even though he had been trying his best. _Christ,_ he needed to do better. Because things could have gone very differently if only one thing in their story had alternated.

"I love you," he declared, interrupting Vera before she could come up with an appropriate addressing.

She inhaled sharply, freeing herself from his embrace too easily – and perhaps his arms weren't as strong as he thought, as he wanted them to be, _Jesus_ , _don't let her get away-._ She framed his face with her tender palms, avoiding certain areas and he realized his cheek must have been scrapped as hell, healing, and she didn't want to hurt him. She never wanted to hurt him. He blinked away his own tears as her thumb stroked unharmed part of his face, melting under the touch.

Vera pressed her lips together tightly, her furious heartbeat picking up even more and he could hear her gulping.

"Come on, Matt, let's get you back to the bed," she said, sounding a little strangled, retreating her hands from his face to his utter disappointment. He almost whined. _Just a minute longer. Just don't stop touching me. I need to know you're here and you're you and you still feel the same._ Vera lost their contact for only a short moment, sliding her arm under his relatively healthy one, supporting his weight, another arm around his waist, vainly trying to avoid the injured ribs in barely detectable, yet reassuring touch.

For the first time, he registered that his legs weren't just feeling weak, but were actually trembling, pain radiating in waves from his knee ligaments. Yeah, maybe sitting down was not such a bad idea. Vera leaving on the other hand – _very bad idea._ He gripped her forearm as if his life depended on it. It pretty much did.

The nurse finally snapped from her shock and helped. Matt didn't like her touch as much as Vera's, but he appreciated the help to be honest. His thighs and calves cried in happiness as he sat back down. The knee wasn't even crying. It was screaming and not in happiness.

"You yanked your i.v. out," the nurse complained, retreating and crossing her arms on her chest, "and few other inputs I really don't want to mention. You shouldn't be moving at all, let alone standing and walking. If you screwed your knee-"

"Hey, he just woke up after two weeks of being in a coma. Could you be a little nicer, please? I'm sure he's feeling the deepest regret-" _so very much_ _ **no**_ _,_ Matt disagreed with Vera mentally, while the rest of his body (which immediately caught her scent, thank god, he could smell her and feel her over him) did feel the deepest regret, "-for causing any trouble."

Matt managed an approximation of an innocent smile – or he hoped so –, Vera's hand finding his, squeezing lightly, and the woman sighed, spinning on her heels and leaving the room.

" _I don't get paid enough for this. I'm sending Temple. How the hell did he even know who was at the door…?"_

Matt should be concerned about the slight misstep in judgement. He wasn't. He reciprocated Vera's gentle touch brutally, crushing her fingers in his until she hissed in pain.

"Sorry," he mumbled, loosening the grip immediately and she brought his hand to her lips in sympathy. Matt closed his eyes contentedly. God, _yes._ The right structure, the right shape, leaving the right imprint, a kiss given with the right amount of _'_ I care about you'. He wanted those lips _everywhere_ and he wanted them every day for the rest of his life.

Her fingertips traced his forearm, up, stopping at his elbow. "Jesus, Matt. One would think you know how to remove an i.v. input…" Vera murmured, emotions hidden carefully in a weak attempt of lightening up the situation. The corners of his lips twitched. "…and the other input. _Šmarja_. That had to hurt like hell, not that I would know. Your knee was— you _really_ shouldn't have stood up."

Her voice shook inconspicuously with worry. Just a light vibration in her tone as her fingers ran back to his palm. She worried about him. She was wearing his gift, never putting it away. She was touching him, tender hands and lips, as if she was afraid of breaking him. As if she cared. As if she _loved_ him.

Matt wrapped his arm around her waist, probably leaving a blood stain on her tee – not caring –, pulling her closer to his side. Because he could. Because this Vera was _his Vera_ and she was _his_ in every possible meaning of the word. She inhaled shakily, slowly letting her head rest against his collarbone.

"Is this— is this okay? I'm not hurting you?" she asked hesitantly and he hummed in agreement before she could even finish, pressing a lingering kiss on the top of her head since she had got so conveniently close.

 _Vanilla and coconut. Soft hair. No wig. 'I'm not hurting you?' instead of 'I'll end you'_.

 _There is a God_.

"Two weeks, huh?" he asked eventually, breaking the relative silence interrupted only by their breaths – and the rest of the hospital noise from all the floors. She tensed under his arm and he quickly drew a circle on her side instead of an apology.

"Yeah."

Vera didn't say anything else and it should hint him he shouldn't be asking. At least not now. But he needed to know. He needed to know everything, because the more info he would get, the more real this would be.

"What happened?"

Vera sighed, blinking furiously, tears gathering in her eyes. "Do you want to lie down?" she asked instead of an answer. _Yes_. And _no_ , because he doubted she would lie down with him; and now he had her side, her back, her head against his shoulder and then he would get _a hand_ if he was lucky enough. "Take that as a yes..."

"Vera-" he protested quietly, right hand – and shit, the split on his elbow sucked – sliding under her chin, turning her face to him. It was already wet with her tears.

Her breath hitched and she worked against something suffocating in her throat, he could tell. He hated it. "Matt, I-"

He shamelessly kissed the cold streams of her sadness away, salt on his lips, just because he was _allowed to._ Her eyelids wrinkled, eyelashes heavy with salt colliding as she squeezed her eyes shut, releasing more tears.

"I'm so sorry. Ježišmarja. I'm so, _so sorry."_

At this point, Matt got quite confused, his mind racing. "What are you sorry for, _sweetheart?"_ Because he fucking _could_ , _suck it up, alternative reality._

"You don't _remember?"_ she asked, her voice breaking on the last word and Matt wasn't sure what exactly made him wince – the tone or the question? He was pretty sure he was allergic to these three words now.

"No," he answered simply, kissing her forehead for encouragement. Was it somehow her fault? That he got hurt? She did sound guilty. Jesus, how did she sound guilty?

Vera sobbed, the noise tragicomically loud in the wide space, and she withdrew, facing the ceiling slightly as if she wanted to ask some higher power to help her. Matt didn't understand. And he didn't like that she extended their distance, her head no longer in his hand that fell down uselessly.

"You got hit by a car," she blurted out of blue and Matt froze, processing the information. So he _had_ got hit by a car. That was rather a new one. Or an old one – depended on the point of view.

"That kinda sounds like my fault."

She sucked in one breath sharply. "Correction then – _I got you_ hit by a car. _I wanted_ us to go out. We were walking too close to the road and I didn't notice the car in the oncoming traffic and you shieldedme _._ A car hit us and you fucking shielded me, Matt!" she burst out and jerked to her feet, taking a step back – away from the bed.

Matt was shocked by the sudden outburst. And the words.

That was it? They were walking and they got hit by a car? A horrible realization struck him and it was like his dream all over again. _They_ got hit by a car. He stopped breathing, focusing on her once more, this time looking for injuries. He had been so enchanted in checking whether she was _his Vera,_ that it hadn't even crossed his mind she might be hurt. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. He couldn't find any. But that didn't mean there _weren't_ any, she wasn't moving now, didn't breathe as well, so he was receiving desperately little information. Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest, the vibration too weak to let him see her though.

"Are you okay?"

Vera burst out laughing, a humourless bitter sound with icy edges. She ran her hand down her face and Matt focused on her movement, on the sounds of her bones and muscles shifting against each other, the thin fabric of her shirt and jeans smooth on her skin. He still didn't find any injury. _Good._

"Yeah. Yes, Matt, _I am_ okay," she ensured him, her voice like razors.

"It still sounds like it was my fault," he noted, still not following why she was feeling guilty. They had got hit by a car. It wasn't like she had been driving. "Or the driver's. You can't-"

"Don't you fucking tell me what I can or cannot do, Matt!" she interrupted him harshly and the tone felt like cold fingers creeping up his spine, reminding him of the _other_ _Vera_.

' _You don't get to tell me what to do.'_

' _I don't need you to save me.'_

"Because I don't do that to you either. And I hate this, I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask you to get hurt. You got hit by a car because of me. I had few _scratches_ and _bruises_ and you have _broken bones_ and _been in a coma for two fucking weeks_. Because you were protecting me, dammit!"

Stunned silence fell as her broken, yet very loud voice faded away, her hands, gesturing wildly, dropped to her sides before covering her mouth to muffle her sobs.

Matt was… awed. No, he was astonished. He wasn't sure it was in a good way.

"Is that what it's like?" The question left his lips without consulting with his brain first. _Mind controls the body, Matty._

"What?!" she shrieked, absolutely taken aback, apparently not following.

He cleared his throat, something ungraspable growing in his chest. "Is that what it feels like? Being angry with for… for doing everything in your power to save the one you love and get hurt in the process?"

Matt heard her eyelashes colliding, cutting the air in furious speed as she was blinking. _"What?"_

He chuckled, letting the new feeling settle in. He didn't realize it, but whenever he saved her, he was more or less unharmed. Sure, there was the whole… leaving with Stick thing, and he _had_ got beat up when the bunch of criminals had taken him (it never got less embarrassing), trying to let her know to stay the fuck away from it and he hadn't exactly peachy after getting shot (but he hadn't protecting her… that much, at the time, he had been trying to help everyone in the bank, and it had been one small bullet wound Vera shouldn't had been concerned about because they hadn't knew each other that well at the time) either.

Vera, on the other hand, had got some herself serious torture when protecting his secret (his, and only _his_ , not that he ever admonished her for that, he had other ways to cope, thank you very much), donated her blood while passing out (and yeah, they did have a discussion about that), had got shot when she had played hero and saved him from the said bunch of criminals _and_ almost had got crucified when she had been doing his job for him and while it had taken him a while to figure it out, he had realized she was also _protecting_ _him_ , the freaking public opinion on him, because the squad of lunatics had acted in his name.

This was the first time he had literally protected her with his own body. And naturally, she was _pissed,_ just like he would be, if she even _tried to_ shield him and ended up in a coma while he would only have few bruises.

She hated he had got hurt for her. His brain was processing the information slowly and when it finally did, his heart grew into enormous measures. He was sure she would know a fancy medical term for it, she was awesome like that.

Matt patted the bed next to him, wordlessly asking her to sit by his side. Because, _Jesus Christ,_ he wanted her to never ever leave his side. Vera wavered for few moments, before she hesitantly took three shaky steps, sitting down agonizingly slowly, tense as if she wanted to run away.

"Vera, look at me," he pleaded, his mind racing. How could she not understand? She raised her head, inconspicuously turning her face to him, while her fingers kept interweaving and squeezing each other. He could only hope she actually _was_ looking at him.

He almost sighed in relief when he remembered their first talk about this, their roles reversed. Claire had interjected, actually; he would be her copycat, but he really didn't care. Whatever to make Vera understand.

"Do you respect me?"

Matt heard her heart freak out, her head snapping to him fully, startled. Her fingers froze. He could only imagine the look on her face.

" _What?!"_ It seemed to be her favourite question today.

He smiled tightly. "Do you respect me, Vera?"

"Of course I do," she exclaimed as if it was clear as day and she didn't have a clue why would he ask her that. Her voice was flat. She wasn't crying anymore, but she was guarded, hiding. Matt didn't like when she was hiding.

"If that's true then that means you have to respect my choices and stop with any kind of guilty bullshit."

She winced as the swear word left his mouth. He wasn't swearing often, not like this, not _out loud._ Which was good, because it was only giving his words more significance now. Her knowing he wasn't lying would help too; her hands were easily guidable, not resisting at all when he took one of them, placing it over his heart, letting her feel his steady heartbeat.

"And my first choice – no matter what – will always be to _protect you."_ _If you let me._

Her hand trembled on his chest, so he covered it with his palm completely. Vera gulped, breathing in and out slowly. In and out. God, he loved that sound and he loved he could be close enough to feel her exhale.

"That's— that's stup-"

"I will always do my best to protect you. It doesn't matter if it's a drunk driver-"

"He wasn't drunk, they tested-" she protested.

"-or a mugger, or your best friend's wrath-"

He thought the corners of her lips twitched a little. Success.

"-or anyone-" _including yourself and myself,_ "-or anything. Okay?"

Vera shook her hear furiously and Matt wasn't quite sure if it was in disbelief or disagreement, but it made her tears fly away and her whole body was shaking, once more so easily guidable, not resisting when he pulled her in his arms again and she gave in, holding onto him tight, this time apparently not giving a shit about his injuries and it actually hurt.

But pain was good. Pain made it _real._ He cradled her periodically as much as his body allowed him without making him hiss in pain, caressing her hair, selfishly enjoying the feeling of having her at him. He would touch her a lot in few upcoming days. _A lot._ And she would probably let him, returning the sentiment. God bless her.

"I never want to go through something like this again," she whispered to the stupid scratchy gown, her fingers clutching it on his back, desperately holding onto something and Matt could only rest his chin on the top of her head and his eyes rolled up, thinking exactly the same.

"Yeah, me neither." Never. _God, please, never again._

Before she could question his words, someone else entered the room. There wasn't even a sound of the door opening – it must have been open the whole time. Matt couldn't help smiling before the person even spoke up.

"Alright, you two are like a textbook example of fluff and angst _and_ hurt and comfort. Cut it. You already scarred one poor nursie. Just because I like you, it doesn't mean I need to put up with this. And neither does Foggy, he'll be on his way."

"Hey, Claire," Matt hummed over Vera's head. She went completely rigid at Claire's words, her burning cheeks heating up even more. _Jesus_ , he loved her. She started pulling away immediately; Matt graciously let her, but only few inches.

" _Matt-"_ Vera hissed at him in protest, but he had no intention to let her get off easily. Not now, when he had her.

 _This woman._ His miraculous quirk of fate that could have gone sideways so effortlessly _._ Oh no, he was _not_ letting her get off easily.

"Just one more thing, Claire," he half pleaded, half demanded.

He could taste the confusion of both women in the air, Vera's heartbeat increasing, anticipating trouble. She yelped to his mouth when he kissed her, silencing any of her possible protests, meeting the lips he dreamed of for _two weeks_ apparently and he was planning on kissing them a whole lot more in the future, because he could and hell if he wouldn't _._

Matt distantly caught Claire's _¡Dios mío!,_ but he didn't give a shit, because Vera finally unfroze, returning the kiss, caressing his upper lip since he claimed hers lower and she opened her mouth just slightly, not pressing, inviting (which was the point he realized he was gross and she didn't seem to care), and Matt accepted the invitation. He would take anything he could get at the moment. _Any time,_ actually.

Because he fucking could.


	9. IX

**IX.**

… _ **Take me to your secret garden  
Walk me back through time we've lost  
Shake in blood, and I'll tell no one  
That the river can be crossed…**_

 _Snow Ghosts – Secret Garden_

"Were you dreaming?" Vera asked him, keeping her voice pleasantly low for his ears; loud enough for him to hear it, just the right amount of quiet so he needed to focus a little, his focus point while he tried to muffle everything else.

She was lying in his bed now, the tiny space, curled to his side, pressed very tightly, so she wouldn't fall – there was nothing else he could wish for. He kept playing with her hair, perfectly content – Claire didn't bother with giving him another i.v. since he didn't want any painkillers apart from aspirin and he promised her to drink enough. Putting aside the environment they were in and the circumstances, it would be paradise.

And it just shattered. With one simple question: _Were you dreaming?_

' _You don't remember?'_

' _Who the hell is Vera?'_

' _You quitted after taking down Fisk.'_

' _Matt… that's Vicki. She's been working here for… six months give or take? I didn't think she was your type. Blond? Too much makeup? Spiritual?'_

' _Back in the land of mortals, Devil?'_

' _Did you hear_ _ **me**_ _scream? The Devil, coming to the rescue to anyone who cries for help loud enough. Guess I wasn't screaming that loud. And then I couldn't scream at all.'_

' _Do you know who Gaia is? Not much of a reader, huh? She was born without the gene of fear. She was unbreakable. I am too. I'm already broken. Did your fancy hearing and who knows what catch that?'_

' _If you ever bother my friend or me, I'll end you.'_

' _You want to go out playing hero again? I won't stop you. But don't you think for a second that I'm gonna play your damsel in distress, Matthew.'_

' _You don't know shit about me. I don't need you to save me.'_

"Matt?"

A gentle stroke on his chest. He blinked his eyes open, realizing he had squeezed them shut. He slowly made his hands relax too, releasing the sheets and her tee.

"No. No, I wasn't."

Matt would swear he _heard_ her frown. Her hand was resting above his heart – she knew he was lying.

"Okay. But… if you ever remembered or something… you can always tell me. If you wanted to. Just… just wanted to let you know."

Vera knew he was lying and she let it slide. He sighed.

"I wasn't… I wasn't _dreaming_. I was in purgatory," he said eventually, probably rising more questions than he answered. Judging by her heart rate, definitely. She kissed his throat, the closest place to her lips.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled to his skin, not pressing further, leaving him with an option.

 _Dammit, Vera._

"You weren't there. I… it was some kind of a… _could be_ world. And you… you weren't there. Not as you anyway."

' _You don't know shit about me.'_

"Oh."

Her breath hitched in anticipation. He shouldn't have even started. Now it would bug her if he didn't finish. He sighed again.

"I woke up in a hospital after a car accident. They thought I was suffering from amnesia, because I didn't remember… things. I did remember them, just differently. I remembered them real, but apparently that wasn't what happened."

"I'm… a little confused," she admitted, shifting in her position slightly, possibly tugging closer to him, raising her face to his to she could study his expressions. Yeah, he wasn't sure he wanted that.

"I remembered you. Everything what had happened. But in that world, it hadn't. I… uhm. I apparently dated another woman, I met her when helping her mother – legally way."

"You dream-cheated on me?" Vera asked him with hints of amusement and fake horror in her voice, but for Matt honestly – it _was_ horror _._ He really tried to appreciate her attempt to light up the mood, but he kinda didn't.

"Yeah. Sort of. Don't worry, we broke up fast. But… there was more. I quitted. After taking down Fisk."

"Nelson and Murdock?"

Matt pressed his lips together tightly, shaking his head, wishing to say yes _._ That would be an interesting alternative reality, but he wasn't exactly eager to fall into another coma just to find out.

"No. The other thing."

Vera tensed. She stayed quiet, but she was biting her lip as if she wanted to say something. _'Back in the land of mortals, Devil?'_

Matt waited for almost a minute and continued only after she hadn't say a word – perhaps she didn't know what to say. Honestly, he had no words too. Especially since he knew the consequences.

"Everything was wrong. I dated a woman I didn't know and had no idea how we could actually ever get together. Nelson and Murdock kept going, with Karen and everything and the three months I was with Stick, I was supposedly in a coma. I remembered you, I remembered _us_ and you weren't there. Foggy thought I was crazy. He had the cup, the one with the rhyme, but you just _weren't_ there. Until you were."

Her heartbeat was loud in his ears. Her skin burned too hot, started sweating. She was afraid. Matt gulped, well-aware she had a reason.

"You were working at Josie's. Went by Vicki. You wore tons of makeup and a wig. Foggy said it was blond, but hell if I knew."

Vera pressed her lips together. He thought it was just tension she didn't know how to release – but then her body shook with silenced laughter.

She was _laughing_.

Matt felt his own body going absolutely rigid.

"Okay, I get that must have been awful. Josie's. Blond wig. Wow."

He clenched his fists, setting his jaw tight. "There was _nothing_ funny about that," he strained through his teeth, his ears ringing.

' _You don't know shit about me.'_

And there must have been something – in his tone, in his posture, in his expression – that made her stop laughing instantly. Vera took a deep breath, reaching for one of his fists, stroking the back of his hand lightly.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Matt," she apologized in a thick voice, caressing his hand again. His muscles relaxed. _The Vera he knew._ He pressed his lips to her hair, inhaling deeply.

"You were different. She was different," he whispered weakly, the world spinning at the memory. _'What do you care anyway?' 'I'm already broken, did your fancy hearing catch that?'_ "And it was my fault."

Her shoulders fell, her head – turned to his – banged on his chest. "That sounds awfully familiar-"

"You don't get it!" he snarled, regretting it instantly as she stiffened, her pulse spiking. "I… I had met you in the café, you started working there. That was why Foggy had his cup. But… do you remember our second meeting? Of _any_ of our meetings?" _Disguised or not._

Vera slowly relaxed against his side again, giving him another apologizing kiss. Her lips were magic _._ And her cheeks flushed at the memory. "The mugging. I… I tossed you a snack after you saved me from getting mugged."

Something squeezed his chest in a vice. And it had nothing to do with the damage which had been made to his ribcage. "Possibly worse. Yeah. But I hung up the mask after the Fisk's case."

Matt didn't want to say it. Jesus, he did not want to say it. But would it really be less terrible if Vera would?

"…you never saved me."

"No."

Heavy silence fell, disrupted only by their breaths. Matt was afraid of breathing. He waited for her to snap. To yell at him, or the other him, which meant yelling at _him_ , because it wasn't like the other him was anywhere in her radius.

Vera surprised him. Well, technically, she didn't. But it always surprised him how… how much forgiveness this Verahad. Then again, she hadn't been— she hadn't-

"Okay. How does that make me working at Josie's and being kind of a hooker your fault? So I got mugged-"

"-possibly worse," Matt repeated, clenching his jaw once more. How could he had. Been. So. Stupid.

"Oh," she let out in realization, just a small startled yelp. "That's… oh. Shit."

"There was another vigilante in town as I discovered later. Naturally, me being me _me_ , I followed her." Basically.

Vera blinked in surprise. _"Her?_ There was a female vigilante? That's kinda cool."

Matt closed his eyes shut at her excitement, the lump in his throat growing, the vice squeezing him tighter. "Yeah, not so much."

"Why?" she asked cautiously. Matt thought she might swallow something like 'do you think women cannot be vigilantes or what'. He huffed. At least he was getting to an end.

"She wasn't… enhanced in any way. Using brass knuckles, wearing a taser. Decent hand-to-hand combat, she wasn't doing it for long. She wore an eye mask, it had… it had kind of loose ends, stripes or something, somehow glued to her cheeks. It covered a long scar on her face."

' _Guess I wasn't screaming that loud. And then I couldn't scream at all.'_

Jesus. Christ.

"So… who was she?" Vera asked after short moment and Matt thought he might gag at her curious tone.

"It… it was a knife scar. And she… uhm… she went by Gaia. I have no idea how that got into my head, apparently it was after a character from some book, a girl who-"

"-was born without a gene of fear. Her body… it was like it was constantly flooded with adrenalin, always ready to fight. Her father was CIA, she didn't know, not at first. I guess I mentioned it once, I always was an eager reader and I loved stuff like that. Sorry," she mumbled, letting out a small laugh.

The last thing Matt wanted was to _laugh_. Scratch that, the last thing he wanted was to tell her. To say out loud what must have been hanging in the air, something Vera sure had on the tip of her tongue, unable to grasp it.

"So… if… if you ever became a vigilante, you would go by something like that?" he asked hesitantly, desperately wanting her to figure it out and _not_ figure it out.

Vera only thought for what could be a second. She shrugged. "I guess. Maybe."

Matt wished he was sitting so he could bang his head against the wall. He anticipated that the mattress somehow wouldn't have the same satisfying effect.

' _She was unbreakable. I am too. I'm already broken.'_

Vera was silent, her mind no doubt racing.

 _Please, just say it. Please, don't you ever say it._

Matt could tell the exact moment it hit her. He heard her astonished gasp, her body overwhelmed with the realization. "Oh."

He blinked away his tears. "Explain," he breathed weakly, his whole body somewhat flowing. _Mind controls the body. But does it?_

"The makeup Vicki wore – it… it was for the scar," she explained obediently.

 _Not much of a hooker now, huh?_ "Yes."

"Just like the mask. The wig – blond, obviously, dark would have no effect since she had dark hair, and was easier than dying the black hair blond. Wearing a wig for fighting is unpractical, so she was looking more like herself when vigilanting, disguising in the daylight."

So smart. _Too_ _smart_. She would do it exactly this way if it really happened, wouldn't she? Matt wanted to throw up.

"Yes."

"She had got mugged, _possibly worse_ , and she was sick of being helpless. And there used to be a vigilante who went awol. Quite inspiring. The vigilante thing, I mean."

"Yes."

"So she learnt how to fight, probably with some private lecturer, and hit the streets instead of the Devil."

"Yes."

"And you're totally a dick if you're blaming yourself for that, especially since it was all in your head."

"Ye- " he wanted to reply automatically, because she was right and she was right about everything, and the other Vera had done _everything_ she would do in her place and he just _knew_ real Vera would do it, and now it was showing, she confirmed it step by step, and it was scaring him shitless, how easily it could had been truth, and _what was the last thing she said?!_ "What?"

"I can't believe you spent two weeks in a coma, dreaming up a brave new world, and your freaking over-all guilt,your real-life alter ego, _Matt McGulitFace Murdock,_ actually followed— you know what, it's sad, but it's in fact really easy to believe that. Jesus, Matt."

Did she just call him a _dick?_ Did she just call him _Matt McGuiltFace Murdock?_ His brain shut down.

"You— wh- me- …what?"

"Wow, I made Matt Murdock speechless. Matt, were you seriously lecturing me about, I quote _'guilt bullshit',_ after you dreamed up that kind of a world? You're a walking guilt complex. And I love you. _And_ because I like to think I know you, there is only one thing I can tell you, no matter how ridiculous it is. _I forgive you._ And if she was at least a little bit like me – she would eventually forgive you too, or him _,_ whatever."

 _She wasn't like you. She was— she was-… but she was still good. She was helping people. She was bitter, scarred, but good._ Would she really forgive him? One day? Jesus, _he_ would never forgive himself if he did that. He was so pissed at that other him – he wanted to stuff hundreds packages of those fucking earplugs down his throat and let him _choke to death_.

"Matt, I… I know you, okay? I know that you think you have to… save the world and that every person you don't manage to help haunts you without them being aware of it. This… dream world, this alternative reality you created in your head, it just proves it. But it's also utter bullshit. I'm sorry, it's a horrible thing to say, but you just cannot save everyone. You just _can't_. You're just one guy. And the guy in your dream – I'm sure he had a reason to stop. In your eyes, he wasn't even trying anymore. But _you are._ Not to mention is not your obligation to be… Mike. Just, please, Matt, please, don't let this fucked up _imagination_ get under your skin."

 _Too late._

"It's not too late," Vera protested as if she could hear his thoughts. Or did he say that out loud? "It was a never-ending dream, I believe it was terrible, I can't even imagine, but it was just a dream, okay?"

He let the words and her concerned caring voice wash over him, clutching her tee again, holding onto something firm, real. And it felt real. Real in a way the last four days had, yet quite different. Matt hated some of the things that had happened _there_ and he loved very few others, just like he hated what had happened _here_ and on the other hand not quite believed how lucky they had got in certain moments. How could he be sure _this_ wasn't a dream?

"Come on, Matt. Say it. Tell me it was just a dream," she pleaded silently, her lips gently pressing against his cheek.

Soft lips, burning heat. _Real_.

"It was just a dream," he repeated obediently.

"Do you believe what you just said?"

She knew him. She knew him so well, the thin nuances, the train of his thoughts. As if she wasn't even from this world, as if he just dreamed her. And it was much more believable, that he dreamed _her,_ because he usually didn't get good things.

But he had her now. Even if for just a dream. And he wanted to make her happy.

"Yes."

"Duh. Lousy liar. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Matt replied automatically to the ridiculous question. She hummed contentedly, running her hand through his hair.

Tender fingers, affectionate touch. _Real._

"Then believe what I'm saying. It was just a dream," she reminded patiently, a smile in her voice, playful note in her next words. "And you're awesome."

Matt couldn't help it. He huffed a laugh.

"There's nothing funny about that!" Vera returned, burying her finger to his chest, somehow managing to avoid bruised areas.

 _Real. Warm. Light._ He trusted her. She was right.

"Okay. Okay. I love you." His lips involuntarily formed a smile and he didn't even try to resist, nuzzling his nose in her hair right above her ear, breathing in, kissing her temple. _Real. Mine_. "God, you have no idea how much I love you."

"I'm starting to get one."

His smile widened and he found her lips, letting himself feel exactly how realshe was. "No, you really don't."

"Matt, you made yourself a human shield to protect me from a car,"she almost sounded as if she was complaining, but there was something warm behind her tone. She liked to feel loved. Who didn't?

"And I would do that again."

"Masochist."

"You would do the same," he shot back with confidence, regretting it instantly.

 _Jesus,_ why would he force her to say a thing like that? If it wasn't the truth? Worse (or better) if it _was_ the truth? Also did he just encourage her?!

Shocked silence was the answer, but not for long. Vera snuggled her face to the crook of his neck, something self-satisfying radiating from her. He remembered one of their early conversations about something similar. She had said she wouldn't try to save him if her life was in danger. And even though she was telling the truth back then, there were moments he honestly doubted it.

"Yeah. Yeah, I would," she exclaimed firmly, her heart beating perfectly steadily, making his own stop. Jesus Christ, _this woman_.

"I don't like this."

Vera lifted her head, kissing his jaw lightly. "That was a lie, Matthew."

 _Yeah, yeah it was._

And he was a terrible person for feeling this way, because a part of him wished it wasn't a lie, but it was. She would do the same for him. It was scary. It was terrifying. It was poisonously sweet and dark and it was like a shot of ecstasy right to his veins.

"You scare me," he breathed, throat tight with emotion he couldn't quite identify. She did scare him. In a good way?

"Uh-huh."

"But she was scaring me more."

 _You have no idea how much she was scaring me. How much it scared me I was the one to blame for her. How close and yet so far you are from becoming her._

"Here's your answer. Guess you're stuck with me then _."_

It sounded as if it was his punishment. Maybe it was. But Matt loved that punishment. If he was now trapped in a dream world – and he still wasn't confident he wasn't –, he was going to enjoy every minute of it.

"That I am." Thank God.

 _Thank God._


	10. X

**X.**

A blond woman in scrubs walked out of the hospital, hailing a cab. Her bright blue eyes twinkled in the last sunrays.

She got lucky – the driver noticed her instantly, pulling over with the backdoor right in front of her. She looked at her reflection in the dark window, rolling her eyes – she looked ridiculous. And the ridiculous nametag. Nancy Knopp. _Nancy_ for god's sake. She was cool with names starting with an N, she was used to it, but god, at what _cost?_ She rather slid in.

"Where to, doc?" the driver asked cheerfully, winking. He was well-built. Not a weightlifter, more an athlete. His tee was maybe too tight, so his muscular arms were highlighted. His smile was almost boyish despite the fact he was around forty.

The blonde snorted, snapping the door shut. "Not Jersey."

The driver laughed wholeheartedly and geared up, while the woman put away her wig, shaking her red hair back to its natural shape, pulling her contacts out.

"Wouldn't dream of it. You would make a cute doctor. Angelic."

She shot him an unamused look. "Like three doctors tried to touch my butt in past two hours. The only reason I didn't break their wrists was because they were _doctors_. Watch your tongue, Barton."

He chuckled again, but he let it drop, his face getting serious. "How is he?"

"Lovesick, but I guess that wasn't what you were asking. They're gonna take him to MRI later today, but it should be alright. Found anything new?" she demanded, shaking off one particular picture away from her head. His face she saw through the microcamera she had placed on the young nurse's uniform. The relief, the expression of absolute gratitude and… _delight_ , when he held his girlfriend in his arms again. She felt a sting of jealousy. She didn't have that. She probably never would.

" _Nichego."_

"How is that possible? We have _everything._ And you're telling me we cannot fucking figure out who injected him with this garbage?" she snarled, her hands clenching in fists around the stupid scrubs as she pulled it over her head.

They had never encountered that substance before. It was hard to tell how much of Matt's comatose state could be blamed on his concussion and how much on the drug. It was also hard to tell if it would progress if Bruce hadn't created an antidote. If his brain would melt or something.

When they had done CT with contrast earlier, some parts of his brain had lighted up like a Christmas tree and even she could tell that was _not_ a natural state. They had claimed the results for themselves, just like the lab tests – whatever he had been injected with, the substance had been refusing to leave his system. The antidote was directed at the same receptors like the drug compounds, replacing them because of higher affinity, falling into their place like puzzle pieces, while the drug could be eliminated. The bonds with receptors of the antidote was – unlike with the drug – degradable. At least that was what Bruce had told them, trying to explain it in as plain English as he managed.

And now they had all records, they had the drug, they had camera footages, they had lists of all visitors, all employees, they searched every possible database and they had _nothing?!_

"Nat…"

"They injected _Matthew Murdock,_ Clint. Not Daredevil. How hard can it be to figure it out?!"

She hadn't been working on it with them. She had spent most of the time in the hospital, watching over him, making sure no one would get to him again. She had once literally run into Vera – the girl had been so out of her mind she hadn't even noticed she had bumped into Black Widow; blond one, blue-eyed, but still.

"You _know_ we're trying," he offered in a conciliatory manner and she sighed. Yeah, well, try _harder_. They wouldn't find it and things would get _messy_. They actually already were – the driver died under very fishy circumstances, conveniently before they could ask him some questions. "And you said he was fine."

"I did. But that doesn't _make it_ fine."

A short silence followed, until Clint inhaled sharply, letting out an incredulous chuckle.

"You ship them." Natasha froze, hand stretched for some normal tee. _Shit_. He sounded absolutely astonished. "Oh my god, Natasha, you _ship_ them."

"Shut up. What does that even mean?" she protested. She did not. She was not a _shipper_. She didn't swoon over some-

"It's okay. Your secret's save with me," Clint reassured her with a grin in the back mirror and she shot him a murderous look, only holding for few seconds before cracking an inconspicuous smile.

"It better. Now drive or _we_ are gonna run someone over and I'm not gonna be the one who'll explain that to Fury."

"Yes, doc."

"Shut up, Katniss."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

-.-.-

Claire from Matt's dream was right. Matt _was_ receiving certain stimuli (v. Nancy), just like we are when dreaming (v. his dreams in dreamed world – yeah it's a mess, I know, but you see what I mean, right?) and combining with what he knew or thought (even without being actively aware of it), it created a whole new world in his comatose head. I have no PhD. in neurophysiology and stuff, and I remember shit from my physiology classes, so I'll go with theory that the main brain areas targeted by the drug were amygdala and hippocampus (limbic system in general) and prefrontal cortex.

 _Who, how_ and _why,_ that I leave for you to figure out O:-) (When I'll figure out _for sure_ by myself, I'll let you know :D)

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think, either good or bad ;)


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